Off the Map
by Celtic Quill
Summary: It started as a typical get-over-your-ex road trip. But along the way, lives change, unbreakable bonds form, unlikely romance blossoms, and old foes bring new problems. Sometimes, the best destinations of life are the ones Off the Map. Qui/Art Puck/Rach
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hello there. :D Welcome to my newest _Glee_ fanfiction, Off the Map. I hope you guys really love it, as it's been so much fun to write. I already have another _Glee_ fanfic up right now, but I'm so excited for this one that I wanted to go ahead and post it. Remember, reviews make me smile and inspire me to update faster. XD

This is **sort of AU**. For one thing, it takes place in the middle of March - Spring Break! Whoo-hoo! Hahah. And another thing different is that Rachel never found out about Finn and Santana (it's not even important to this particular storyline). Hope that clears some things up for you guys.

**Pairings: **Puck/Rachel; Artie/Quinn – With unlikely friendships for all. :)

**Disclaimer: ***reluctantly grumbling* Oh, fine...make me say it, why don't you? "I only own the plot." There, are you happy now? ;)

* * *

Chapter One

"_Run, run, run, run, run, run, run!_" Noah "Puck" Puckerman chanted, bolting down the street.

"Uhm…a little help here?" Artie Abrams called, desperately wheeling himself forward. "'Run, run, run' isn't exactly possible when your legs don't work."

"I gotcha," Quinn Fabray said, sprinting up behind him to propel his wheelchair down the street. Had it not been for the life-or-death circumstance, Artie would've thought the accelerated speed was fun.

"Where's Rachel?" Puck demanded, pausing to look over his shoulder.

As if on cue, Rachel Berry shot out of the building like a bullet, arms and legs pumping. In no time, she caught up with the group.

"Come on, guys, the motel's only a few blocks away!" she rallied.

The second gunshot of the night blasted through the air, shattering the group's nerves, as well – Quinn screamed, Artie's shoulders tightened, and without thinking, Puck lurched forward to grab Rachel's hand protectively.

Okay…I know what you're thinking…why is this unlikely quartet running (or in Artie's case, _rolling_) down the street as if their lives depend on it? Where's the rest of the Glee Club? And why on earth did Noah Puckerman just protectively grab Rachel Berry's hand?

Well, it all started –as most major life-changing journeys do – with a break up. _Three_ break ups, to be specific.

* * *

_One Week Earlier, Friday, Before School._

"I think we should break up."

The perfectly wrapped present tumbled from Rachel's hands in shock, hitting the floor with a dull _thud_.

"Wh – what?"

"Rachel, you're really awesome," Finn Hudson said gently, stepping forward to take his now _ex_-girlfriend's hands within his own. "And it's been fun being your boyfriend, but lately I've just felt so…," he paused, searching for the right word, "_trapped_ by you."

"I don't understand," Rachel protested, her widened brown eyes desperately probing Finn's for an answer. "It's our ten-and-a-half month anniversary! Arguably one of _the_ most crucial milestone's of any young couple's romance – why now?"

"Look, I didn't even know it _was_ our ten-and…_that_ anniversary, or whatever you said. I just know that I've been thinking about this for a while now."

Rachel pulled her hands away from Finn's and stooped down to pick up his gift. "Open it," she insisted, thrusting it toward him. "It'll cure your mind from this temporary bout of insanity you're enduring."

She smiled at him gently. "I know we've been going through a rough patch, Finn, but this present will remind you why we're great together."

Finn took the present a bit reluctantly, sucking in an inhalation of strength. God knew he would need it if he were really going to end things with a girl as stubborn as Rachel.

The gift was sizeable and square, covered in metallic blue wrapping paper and topped with a big red bow.

"I know blue's your favorite color," Rachel told him, "and the red bow is a metaphor for our burning, passionate love holding us together."

Finn raised his eyebrows and tore off the wrapping paper – he wasn't a big fan of surprises, but there was something cool about opening a present when it wasn't your birthday or Christmas.

He felt like Rachel had punched him in the chest when he saw what it was – she'd gone to the trouble of making him a scrapbook documenting their relationship. Could she be any more thoughtful and caring? She was making it twenty times harder to break up with her.

"Wow, Rachel," he breathed, flipping through the pictures and skimming over the cute tidbits she'd written beside each one. "This is amazing – "

"I knew you'd like it."

" – But I can't accept it."

Rachel's smug smile slipped off her face. "What?"

Finn handed it back to her and stuck his hands in his jean pockets. "That's a really cool gift, and you're a really cool girl and all…but I still think we need to break up."

Rachel's heart stuttered in protest before picking up in double speed. "Finn," her tone was quiet, pleading. "Why are you doing this?"

"I haven't felt like myself for a while; I feel like I'm just a co-star on the Rachel Berry Show."

It felt like a rock was squeezing through Rachel's throat. "That's not true."

"That's how I _feel_."

"Please," Rachel begged, hugging the scrapbook to her chest as if it were a shield. "Finn, I love you! And I thought you loved me, too."

"I do, but we both knew this wouldn't last forever," he said gently, casting his eyes to the ground. He blinked away the stinging sensation of tears; contrary to what Rachel may believe, this was hard on him, too. Part of him still wanted to be with her – _really_ badly, but the majority of his heart was telling him it was time to move on.

"_I_ thought it would," Rachel protested, desperation coloring her rising tone. "Please, give me another chance!"

"There's nothing you can do; the spark's just not there for me anymore." Finn coughed against the lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry."

_You should be_, Rachel thought. Instead, she said, "At least keep my scrapbook. Maybe one day you'll look at it and remember why we're meant for each other, and then you'll come back to me."

She held out the scrapbook but he slowly shook his head and pressed it back against her chest. He met her eyes, hating the pain shining so evidently there. "No." The word was soft but firm. "I appreciate it, but I can't keep that; it would just make this whole thing hurt more."

"But don't you see, Finn?" Her eyes were brimming with tears, making the dark brown color appear to glow. But she valiantly continued on with her passionate words, though her voice wavered. "You can prevent that hurt by not breaking up with me! The remedy is so simple, and yet you're choosing a path marked with lonely nights and a bounty of tears. _Please_, don't do this to us."

"I'm sorry, Rachel," he whispered, because his own voice would crack with emotion if he raised it even a single decibel. "But I mean it – we're over. For good."

He leaned forward and planted a good-bye kiss on top of her soft head, breathing in the woodsy scent of her hairspray. Rachel's eyes squeezed shut, sending the barrage of tears to splash over. Her face squeezed up in that way she had when crying, and she kept the scrapbook tucked under one arm as her free hand flew up to cover her face.

Finn turned away and shuffled down the hall, his shoulders hunched and his hands still in his pockets. He hated doing that to her (and to himself), but it had to be done – it wouldn't be fair to either of them to stay in a relationship he wasn't putting his whole self into.

Rachel's shoulders trembled with her silent sobs, but she couldn't bring herself to flee into the nearest girls' bathroom. Her heart throbbed like a bruise, and all she wanted was to go home, curl up under her covers, and bawl loudly into her pillow while the soundtrack to Barbra's _Funny Girl _drifted soothingly through her headphones.

* * *

_Still Friday, Before School.  
_

"What do you mean you're breaking up with me?" Artie asked, confusion drawing his eyebrows into a pucker.

Brittany Pierce bit down on her lower lip and wound her bouncy blonde ponytail around her finger. "Look, Artie, I'm sorry, but I don't want to date you anymore."

"Why not?"

"It's not fun," she shrugged, not able to meet those big, saddened eyes of his behind his adorably dorky glasses. "And I don't want to drag you on…I mean, _roll_ you on, or whatever."

"I don't understand where this is coming from; we have plenty of fun together." He tried to remember anything that would indicate Brittany had been bored on their last few dates, but considering her expression was usually blank, it was hard to tell.

"The truth is, I've never been in a serious relationship," said Brittany, staring at the locker above Artie's head. "And I don't like being in one. I watched Disney's _Peter Pan_ last night, and he taught me that I can't be tied down."

Artie's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "You're taking relationship advice from a cartoon about a boy who's afraid to grow up?"

"Don't knock down Peter just because he's living the dream, Artie. Besides, he can fly, and everyone knows birds are a simile of honesty."

"But I don't understand – we have a really good thing going, Brittany."

"The truth is…" Brittany took a deep breath. It seemed almost illegal to make a sweet boy in a wheelchair feel badly. "You're not adventurous enough for me. I need a bad boy like Captain Crunch."

"You mean Captain _Hook_."

"Yeah, him, too. Face it, Artie…" she hesitated before going in for the kill. "You're kind of boring."

His heart sank into his knees. "No, I'm not!"

Brittany smiled sadly and leaned down to press her hand against the side of his face. Their eyes connected – hers were apologetic; his, pleading.

"Yes," she said, patting the recently-shaved smoothness of his cheek. "You are."

Artie closed his eyes and leaned into her palm; a moment of finality passed between them.

"I'll see you around," she said, pulling away and standing up. "I hope we can still be friends."

"Yeah," Artie nodded, giving her a small smile. "I'd like that."

He watched her amble down the hallway. He wiped away a tear and sniffled before wheeling himself slowly down the opposite end of the hall.

Half of him kept waiting for Brittany to run back for him, drop to her knees, and beg him to take her back (he would, of course, but not until after she'd apologized profusely).

But she never did.

* * *

_Still Friday, Beginning of Lunch._

"Explain this," Quinn demanded, jabbing her boyfriend's cell phone right into his face.

Her stance radiated fury; eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, and her foot tapping with an impatient kind of ire.

Sam Evans flinched away from the offending object, nearly colliding with his open locker door in the process.

"Explain _what_?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow and taking his phone away from Quinn.

He looked down at the screen and his indignant look turned into pure horror and then into complete guilt. "_Quinn_." He said her name as if it were a plea.

"I said '_explain_'!" her voice was shrill, unrecognizable.

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It's not what it looks like."

"Oh, really?" Quinn scoffed, emitting a laugh that lacked any sort of mirth. "That's funny, because what it _looks_ like is you and some random girl have been sending naked pictures back and forth for who-knows how long."

Sam switched tactics – accusation hardened his handsome face. "What were you doing going through my phone, anyway? Have you ever heard of 'mind you own business'?"

Quinn drew back as if he'd slapped her. "You left your phone in our English classroom, and when I picked it up, it beeped. I was more than a little intrigued when the text's caller ID said 'My Baby' and the message was a picture of some girl's nude body."

The top of Sam's chiseled cheekbones flared crimson. "That's just Victoria," he said. "She's an old friend from back home."

"Don't lie to me, Sam!" Quinn yelled, her heart starting to race. Confrontations always invoked a contrasting mixture of power and helplessness within her. She took a deep, shaky breath and smoothed her sweaty palms over her Cheerios skirt.

"Answer me this," she said, her tone dangerously low and calm. "How long have you been cheating on me?"

"You call that cheating?" Sam spluttered. "It's just pictures; it'd be like if I looked at porn online – you don't call _that_ cheating, do you?"

"That's not the same, and you know it." Quinn inhaled again, then exhaled slowly. She prayed for strength, not wanting to blow up in Sam's face, though she very much felt like punching him right now.

"I'm going to ask you again, and this time I want you to answer me honestly: _how long have you been cheating on me_?" She repeated it slowly, each syllable sharp and punctuated.

Sam sucked in his cheeks and focused all of his attention on the inside of his locker. It had once been a mess in there, but Quinn – devoted girlfriend that she was – had spent an entire afternoon cleaning and organizing it for him. He'd appreciated the surprise so much that he'd taken her out for ice cream afterward.

"_Sam!_"

He jerked at her hissing his name before slowly turning his neck to look at her. His usually sweet and sensitive gray-green eyes were dead. His voice was monotone as he finally replied. "Since before we even started going out…" he looked up at the ceiling before continuing. "She's actually been my girlfriend for over a year now, so technically I'm cheating on _her_ with you."

Quinn felt as if an iron claw were crushing her lungs, squeezing the air out of her. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears; her heart pulsated slowly and painfully, like the ticking vein of an open wound.

"_No_." The word was a gasping whisper, almost inaudible even to Quinn. Her bleary vision focused onto Sam's face – so audaciously guilty – and the word left her lips again, much louder and more forceful then before. "_NO!_" She backed up, holding up her hands as if begging for mercy.

Molten tears stabbed at the backs of her eyelids. "_Why_?" she demanded.

Sam took a few steps forward, closing the space between them. "It's not you," he said softly, smiling a smile so cute and apologetic that it broke Quinn's heart all over again. "It's me – I'm a completely insecure jerk. You and Victoria deserve better; I'm…I'm going to call her and come clean, okay?"

Quinn nodded stupidly. Silence, and then she said harshly, "I hope you're smart enough to realize that this means we're over?"

One corner of Sam's mouth turned up in a sad, humorless smile. "Yeah. I gathered that from the way you look like you're plotting my murder."

Quinn shook her head slowly, trying to clear her mind. "I trusted you," she said, her words an accusation rather than a statement. "I was good to you – better than you deserved – and you…" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "How could you do this to me?"

"I told you; it's not you, Quinn. Don't waste time blaming yourself – I'm just an unworthy jerk."

Un_believ_able – even when Sam was a terrible person, he _still_ oozed nice-guy charm.

"Yeah," she nodded and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. "You are." She shoved against his chest with her hands with such force that he almost stumbled to the ground.

He caught himself on the combination lock of a locker and turned miserable eyes to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn was already turning her back to him to stride down the hall. Her posture was straight, shoulders-back – she carried herself with grace and dignity. Her chin was raised; her arms were at her sides.

She slipped into the girls' bathroom at the end of the hall (which was, thankfully, empty), locked herself into the big stall at the very back, and tucked herself into its far corner, completely composed the entire time.

Then, she finally let herself burst into tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading my story, and especially to all you who reviewed and/or subscribed. XD This next chapter is sort of a transition chapter, though I dislike calling it that because it makes it sound unimportant, and I feel that all parts of a whole should be important. I'll probably add Chapter Three later today as a New Year's gift and because I really want to start getting into the heart of the story - the road trip. ^_^ Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy, and please leave me some feedback.

* * *

Chapter Two

_Still Friday, after school._

Usually on Fridays such as today, Puck was antsy for school to end. Then he could go home and spend all weekend playing his Xbox and watching old western movies (they were a guilty pleasure of his).

But today was a particularly special Friday – it was the last day of school until two sweet weeks of freedom: namely, Spring Break.

Puck was extremely excited for Spring Break; his mom and sister were going out of town for his sister's smarty-pants Debate Club thing in some other state.

Which meant the Puckmeister would have the whole _casa_ to himself.

Frankly, he had been shocked his mom had entrusted him with staying home alone for an entire fortnight, but to the look of joy and mischief shining in his eyes at the announcement, she'd pointedly told him, "You're a young man, Noah; it's about time I started giving you more opportunities to actually act like one."

The school day dragged by slower than a snail through wet glue, but _finally_ the last bell was singing its beautiful song.

Puck cheered along with his fellow students, racing out into the halls and spinning around with his arms outstretched below the torn-out papers raining down like graceful snowflakes.

However, his celebration was short-lived when he remembered he had Glee Club starting in ten minutes. It was cruel and unusual punishment for Mr. Schue to schedule practice on the last day of school – Puck felt like a cat desperately trying to reach that elusive ball of yarn, but his master kept yanking it further out of reach.

He walked down to the choir room and took his regular seat at the back. Only Mercedes Jones, Tina Cohen-Chang, and Mike Chang were already there, but as usual, they paid no attention to him.

Puck busied himself by thinking of all the things he could do on his own this weekend (get on his mom's computer - her keyboard was far less sticky than his; drink beer without worrying about getting caught; read his sister's old diaries; emit loud bodily functions without fear of being reprimanded) until the room was filled with his fellow Glee Clubbers.

Surprisingly, Finn and Rachel arrived separately and sat at opposite ends of the room; Puck wondered what that was all about. Rachel's eyes were bright and red-rimmed, as if she'd been crying, and Finn looked even more lost and confused than ever.

For some reason, seeing Rachel – who was always bouncing around the room like a little kid after having coffee for the first time – looking so downtrodden felt _wrong_ to Puck. He figured Finn had probably done something stupid to offend her, and the thought made him feel kind of angry. Which was weird.

But the biggest shocker was when Princess Quinn arrived without Prince Sam on her arm. Besides the fact that the fire in her eyes burned extra-dangerously today, and the fact that her posture was a little bit _too_ straight, she looked completely composed – not a hair out of place. She sat down at the end of the front row, next to Santana Lopez. How was Sam going to sit next to Quinn now?

Artie wheeled in last, a look of dejection all over his face. Instead of parking beside Brittany like Puck expected him to do, he wheeled down to the opposite end of the room and merely nodded to her in recognition.

What was going on with all the lovebirds around here? Had their nests finally been shot down?

Mr. Schuester arrived, the sunny smile on his face a welcome change from all of Puck's gloom-and-doom peers.

"Hey, guys!" Mr. Schue greeted enthusiastically. "Everyone excited for Spring Break?"

"Thrilled," said Lauren Zises in complete monotone.

"Definitely," said Santana, her tone the complete opposite of Lauren's. "Britt and I are going to St. Barts."

"I'm going to Jamaica!" Mercedes squealed, clasping her hands together in delight.

"Yeah, girl, 'cause _Jamaican_ me crazy," Puck quipped, winking at her.

Mercedes raised her eyebrows and looked away as if ashamed by his complete lack of game.

"Where's Sam?" Mr. Schue asked, his curious eyes turning to Quinn.

"He didn't tell you?" she asked, her tone dry. "He dropped out of Glee Club."

Noises of shock, outrage, and confusion rang out across the room.

"Why would he do that?" Mr. Schue inquired, looking torn between concern and anger.

"Because I broke up with him," said Quinn matter-of-factly. "He put a note in my locker telling me to tell you he's officially resigned from Glee Club. Basically, he can't man up and face his problems head-on, so he's choosing to avoid them and hurt his teammates in the process."

"Not cool!" Finn said with a defiant shake of his head. "He can't just bail on us!"

Puck was more curious as to why the golden couple had broken up. Still, he was definitely pissed that Sam had so carelessly ditched the rest of his team.

"Well, as they say on Broadway, 'the show must go on,'" Rachel piped up, rolling back her shoulders and lifting her chin. Puck noticed the way her dorky sweater vest – pale pink with black vertical pinstripes – hugged her chest as she did so.

Rachel was always so…authoritative and…_brave_. Always knowing just what to say to boost morale. The perfect leader. Too bad her obnoxiously superior and dramatic attitude usually negated the point she was trying to make.

"If I hear her say that _one_ more time…" Santana trailed off, sounding extremely annoyed.

"No, guys, Rachel's right," Mr. Schue sighed, dragging a hand through his tight curls. "We can't let this get us down."

"Mr. Schue, I suggest we sing out our frustrations," said Rachel.

"And what song do you have in mind, Rachel?"

"I have the perfect one," she grinned from ear to ear. "One of Barbra's classics – "

But before she could finish her sentence, Lauren interrupted. "_No_. I'm sick of all this show tunes crap. How about we sing some _real_ music up in here?"

Rachel bristled. "_I beg your pardon_, but show tunes are _not_ 'crap'! How dare you disgrace the name of Ms. Streisand, you – "

This time, Mr. Schue cut in. "What did you have in mind, Lauren?" He was glad the ever-unenthusiastic girl was finally willing to participate.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and stared daggers at the back of Lauren's head. Puck bit back a chuckle – how could a person as short as Rachel harvest such spunk and fire within her? It would've been adorable if it weren't so grating.

"I think we should sing 'All We Know' by Paramore," said Lauren. "I think it fits our current situation well."

"Hmmm…some white-girl rock sounds pretty good right now," Mercedes amended, nodding.

Quinn shrugged. "Sounds good to me. So long as I don't have to sing lead – my burning anger is making it hard for me to concentrate."

Rachel smirked at Quinn's comment about singing lead; why would she even assume she would ever get the main part? Everyone knew all solos had Rachel's name written all over them until (rarely) proven otherwise.

"Is there sheet music readily available? I'm not familiar with the song, but it sounds like a fun challenge," she said, that familiar look of determination agleam in her eyes.

That distraught girl of a mere few minutes ago had disappeared, Puck thought, impressed by Rachel's ability to so quickly regain her trademark…_Rachelness_.

"I think Tina should provide the background harmonies," she added.

"Excuse me, but what makes you think _you're_ going to be the one carrying this song?" Lauren demanded.

Rachel's eyes flashed. "Maybe because I'm – "

"Hold on, Rachel," Mr. Schue held up a hand and nodded toward Lauren encouragingly. "She's got a point; you can't just expect the solo. We're a team here."

The brightness dulled from Rachel's eyes, and the smile – tentatively cheery and hopeful – flipped into a frown. Now she looked like she had when she'd first walked in. Puck looked from her to Finn (whose expression was unreadable) to her again, and felt something indecipherable stirring within him.

"Why don't Rachel and Lauren sing it together, Mr. Schue?" he suggested, trying to act as if he were randomly spouting some idea he couldn't care less about. "That way it would be like they both got a solo."

Rachel turned suspicious eyes to him – since when did _Puck_ ever come to her aid? But the smallest of smiles tugged upward at her lips, and her eyes were becoming alive again. _Good_.

Lauren shrugged. "Okay – but I'm just warning you guys, I sound like a dying cat when I sing. You might want to cover your ears."

Mercedes laughed and Santana scoffed loudly. "Then why even sing?" she asked.

"Give her a chance," Mr. Schue said. He smiled at Lauren and added, "I'm sure you're not _that_ bad."

He was right – Lauren Zises wasn't '_that_ bad': she was positively _terrible_. Like, stick-your-head-in-an-oven-to-avoid-the-screech-of-her-voice terrible. She burst into the beginning of the song ("_We tried so hard to understand. But we caaaaaaaan't._") and most of the Glee Clubbers were discreetly poking their fingers into their ears and wincing after the first few notes.

She stopped, shrugged again, her expression settling into her usual look of bored neutrality. "Told you."

"Where's Sam when you need him?" Artie muttered. Quinn, who was seated nearby, stiffened at this.

"So now Rachel can have the solo after all, right?" Puck asked. He snuck a sidelong look at her, and the determination flaring within her chocolate irises made him smirk.

"If no one else objects."

Rachel gave the room approximately half a second to do so before saying, "Great; since no one did, I guess that means we can sing _my_ song now."

The room was punctuated with soft groans which were only assuaged by the fact that Glee practice would soon be over and then they wouldn't have to deal with Rachel Berry for a merciful two weeks.

Well, unbeknownst to them, three members would be getting more of her than they'd bargained.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you guys so much for all of the wonderful reviews, and for subscribing or favoriting this story. XD And of course, even if you just read it, thank you so much!

I promised I would have this chapter up later this evening - well, it's technically the next day, being past midnight here (whoo-hoo; 2011, what's up?), but a promise is a promise. So, HAPPY NEW YEAR!, and I hope this chapter is an acceptable treat for such an occasion. :)

* * *

Chapter Three

_Still Friday, after Glee Club practice._

"All right, I want all of you to have a fun Spring Break," Mr. Schue said. "And stay safe, okay?"

Puck chuckled moronically at this in that dumb _heh_-_heh_ way of his; Rachel would've rolled her eyes had he not (for whatever strange reason) helped her get a much-needed solo today.

Everybody practically ran out of the classroom, except for Rachel, Puck, Artie, and Quinn. Even Mr. Schue hurriedly grabbed his things and headed out the door.

"Would you guys turn off the lights and shut the door behind you? It's already locked," he said over his shoulder, smiling gratefully. "Thanks! See you in two weeks." And then he was gone.

"Sooo…" Puck whistled low. "What do you guys have planned for the break?"

Quinn ignored him as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder, her expression stony. Rachel was rearranging some sheet music she'd brought and sticking them into her book bag.

Artie was the only one who answered: "What do you care?"

"I resent that – I'm a very caring guy!" He tried to ignore the eye-roll from Rachel and the smirk from Quinn.

"Well, _I_ will be spending the break picking up the pieces of my shattered heart," Rachel grumbled to herself.

Puck heard her, though. "So you and Finn _did_ break up, huh? I'm guessing he dumped you."

"Mind your own business!" she snapped, her nostrils flaring wildly.

"Quinn, are you and Sam really over?" Artie asked her quietly.

She turned narrowed eyes to him. "Yes; what's it to you?" Her tone was so icy that it practically sent a shiver down Artie's spine.

"I was just going to tell you that I know how you feel," he said with the smallest of smiles. "Brittany dumped me, too."

Something flashed within Quinn's beautiful eyes – which were clear as the summer sky and a bright shade of amber-streaked green – and her lips pressed into a hard line. She gave Artie a suspicious look, as if searching for ulterior motives. Finally, she replied.

"I don't know what you think happened, but _I_ dumped Sam," she said coldly. "Because…because I don't want to be tied down."

Her word choice brought Artie back to Brittany's reason for ending things with him, and a dull ache throbbed beneath his chest. "Okay," he said, narrowing his eyes at Quinn's attitude. "I was just trying to help."

"Well, don't; I don't need _your_ help."

"You guys all seem really stressed," Puck said. "Why can't you sissies just lighten up?"

"I'm sorry, Puckerman, but maybe if you actually had _feelings_, you would understand how each of us are individually suffering with the crushing weight of our respective break ups," Rachel hissed sharply.

"How can you say so many words without choking?" Artie asked her with a mixture of disbelief and amusement scrawling across his face. Quinn snorted back a laugh.

"I bet you losers are going to stay home and mope the entire break, huh?" Puck shook his head in disgust. "Where's your sense of adventure? Can't any of you guys ever delve into the world of badassedness?"

"I was going to give you points for using the word 'delve,' but you ruined it with 'badassedness,'" Quinn deadpanned.

"What do you have in mind?" Artie asked Puck, folding his arms over his chest and cocking his head.

"Puckzilla's going to have his house all to himself for the next two weeks," he grinned in the most arrogant of manners and bobbed his head. "Why don't you guys come over and I'll teach you the real meaning of a good time?"

Quinn scoffed. "Sorry, _Puckzilla_, but the last time you suggested that, I ended up getting pregnant. And as _amazingly fun_ as that was, I don't really feel like doing it again anytime soon."

Rachel was remaining oddly silent. She twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger, either mulling over Puck's offer or thinking about something completely different. Probably the latter. Puck felt a hint of bitterness at being ignored by her.

"Yeah, I don't know," Artie frowned. "I thought you were going to have a good idea for once, but going to a _par-tay_ at your house isn't really that appealing. No offense."

Artie and Quinn started forward at the same time, and Rachel was finally done organizing her sheet music into her bag, so she'd be leaving in a moment, too. Puck knew he had to act fast – honestly, he didn't really know what was compelling him to reach out to these dweebs, but something in his gut made him blurt out:

"What do you guys think about a road trip?"

It did the trick: Quinn and Artie stopped at the same time and Rachel swiveled toward Puck as she came down the risers, her eyes definitely showing interest.

Fuelled by the curiosity on their faces, Puck plunged forward. "Yeah, think about it: just the three of us, in my car, travelling to some awesome place. I bet you guys have never done anything like this before in your life – no wonder your relationships all ended; you're too _boring_."

The final word made Artie tense, remembering how Brittany had described him as exactly that. "You do realize there are _four_ of us, right?"

"Yeah, well, you're not invited, Wheels," Puck shrugged unapologetically.

"And why not!"

"Because my car doesn't exactly have a handicap ramp."

Artie's eyes narrowed. "But my mom's mini-van does."

Quinn pasted a look of indifference onto her face, but on the inside, she was secretly considering Puck's spiel. She never did do anything remotely impulsive; but then again, why should she, when the last time she'd done so she'd ended up with a baby on the way? But it wasn't like she was going to be having sex with Puck – _ick_, as if! – no, she would just be going on a road trip. And she'd actually always wanted to go on one...

Rachel was thinking of Finn. He'd said the spark was gone between them, and she had been desperately trying to think of ways to get it back. Maybe she wasn't fun enough for him; maybe something like a road trip with fellow teenagers would both help take her mind off of her heartache _and_ help her become someone more fun, someone more Finn-worthy….But did she really want to spend an entire two weeks with _Noah Puckerman?..._

Artie's mind was already made up – he _had_ to go. It would prove to Brittany that he was daring and not-at-all boring, and he would have all of these on-the-road stories to share with her. She would definitely be impressed with his boldness at impulsively accepting such a ludicrous offer from Puck, and she wouldn't hesitate in getting back together with him.

"Well, what about if you have to go to the bathroom? No way am I changing your diaper or wiping your ass or whatever you have to do," Puck said bluntly, nose crinkling.

Artie rolled his eyes. "I can go to the bathroom by myself. How else do you think I do so at school every day?"

"Let's not get into the particulars, please," Quinn quickly said. Artie rolled his eyes again, but his face prickled with the heat of a blush.

Rachel had fully descended the risers and was now standing on the other side of Artie. "Will Finn be invited?" she asked, trying to sound apathetic but failing horribly.

"No; it'd just be the four of us," said Puck. Artie smiled, glad he was now a part of the group.

"What's our destination?" Rachel inquired.

"That's the best part – even I don't know."

"Are you a safe driver; no texting, drinking, or anything else distracting as you navigate the roads?" she prodded, squinting her eyes at him as if to detect dishonesty.

Puck made a show of rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'm a safe driver, okay?"

Finn's face suddenly flashed through Rachel's mind, and the image sent a physical pang into her heart. She would do _anything_ to distract from the misery. "Fine; I'm in," she said in such a tone of serious finality that it was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes.

Rachel and Puck nodded toward each other, sealing the deal.

"The idea of being in close quarters with you and Rachel for two weeks makes me want to slowly rip my hairs out," Quinn said to Puck. "I'll pass."

"I should've known you'd be too _scared_ to accept this ultimate adventure," Puck smirked. "Oh well, we'll be better off without you. Maybe I'll invite Sam instead, and he can have all the fun."

Quinn looked like she wanted to punch Puck, but also sort of like she was trying not to smile. "You're not going to bait me in, Puckerman."

"I'm surprised with you, Quinn," Artie said. "I always thought you seemed like a relatively cool girl, but now I realize you're not the life of the party everyone said you were."

"Yeah," Rachel said, catching on to Artie and Puck's scheme. "I figured you were brave, what with enduring a teen pregnancy and all, but maybe you're more chicken than I thought…."

Quinn knew what they were doing, but couldn't understand _why_ they were doing it. They really wanted her to come along? She was kind of a bitch to all of them. But, as cheesy as it sounded, being wanted right now after what had happened between her and Sam actually made her feel better. A _lot_ better.

"Whatever. I'll come, too, but only to prove I am _not_ scared of adventure," she said.

"So you're all in?" Puck clarified.

"Yes," said Rachel, Artie, and Quinn together.

"Cool," he said, one corner of his mouth pulling upward in a lazy grin. "Just make sure to bring plenty of money to split for gas coverage and other stuff."

"Artie, how are we going to convince your mom to let us borrow her mini-van?" Rachel questioned.

A sly smile spread slowly across Artie's face. "Oh, just leave that to me..."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you so much for all of the support! Please, keep it coming. XD Also, I just wanted to promote the Quartie Ficathon '11. Head on over to the Quartie forum for more details, or shoot me a PM. Basically, it's all about showing the pairing of Quinn and Artie, whether of friendship or romance, some love. :)

Sorry, I'd planned on updating sooner, but I've been busy, what with Happy New Years! and all. Anyway, here's the next chapter; I hope you enjoy it. :D

* * *

Chapter Four

_Early Friday evening, Artie's house._

Artie thumbed through the contacts of his cell phone until he reached the one he was looking for.

He, Puck, Quinn, and Rachel had all exchanged numbers before leaving school, so they could get the road trip details worked out tonight. Puck had insisted they leave bright and early tomorrow morning, so as not to waste any time.

Artie hit 'OK' and his phone dialed Puck's cell number. _Ring. Ring. Ring._ Puck picked up.

"Talk to me, broski."

"Please don't ever call me 'broski' again."

"Did you get the okay from your parents?"

"Yes."

"_How_?" Puck's tone was filled with admiration. "They seriously agreed to lend you their car for two weeks? Aren't they afraid you'll, like, _die_ without their constant supervision or whatever?"

"My parents happen to trust me," Artie said. "And they also happen to think I'm using it for a Glee field trip I forgot to tell them about. One in which Mr. Schuester will be attending."

"Dude…" Puck shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but you're pretty badass."

Artie couldn't help but smile. "I have my moments. Anyway, it's not like they'd ever let me use it for a road trip involving no adults. And considering I'm seventeen years old and have not even a scratch on my permanent record, I figure it's about time I start rebelling. It's healthy, right?"

"Totally," Puck nodded. "Okay, I'm going to call Rachel and see if she can go. Can you call Quinn?"

"Sure. What time are you guys meeting over here tomorrow?"

"Six in the morning, baby."

"Please don't call me 'baby,' either," Artie smirked.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Just be ready or we're leaving without you."

"Yeah, yeah," Artie said, flicking his hand through the air before ending the call.

He went through his contacts, found Quinn's, and sent in her number. The phone rang four times before she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Quinn, it's Artie," he said. As weird as it had felt to talk to Puck on the phone, it felt even stranger talking to Quinn Fabray, the Queen of William McKinley High.

"I know," she said with a slight laugh. "You're in my contacts now, remember?"

"Oh. Right." He chuckled at his own error. "So, are you going with us?"

Quinn sighed. "Do I really have a choice?"

"Yes. You always have a choice."

She smirked. "No need to go all Yoda on me; I'll be there, okay? I can't believe it, but I'll actually be there." She shook her head and laughed in disbelief at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

"We're meeting at my house tomorrow morning at six."

_Yikes_ – that was going to severely cut into Quinn's beauty rest. "Be warned: I am so not a morning person. But I guess I'll make an exception this one time. So, what's your address?"

Artie gave it to her and then said, "By the way, my parents think we're going on a field trip for Glee Club. And that Mr. Schue will be with us."

Surprisingly, Quinn didn't make a big deal out of perpetually good Artie Abrams lying to his parents; he was grateful for that.

"And what will they say when Mr. Schue's _not_ with us?"

"Nothing, because I told them you guys are coming to pick me up, and then we'll drive to the school to meet the rest of the club."

"Wouldn't they assume we'd take a school bus?"

"I told them we have to provide our own transportation because it's a field trip for fun rather than education."

Quinn smiled at Artie's cunningness. "Impressive. And they just bought it? Like _that_." She snapped her fingers to demonstrate the concept of _that_.

"Yup," Artie grinned, though he did feel a bit guilty. "That's the beauty of being a straight-A, never-gets-in-trouble kind of kid – your parents completely trust you. Besides, I'm in a wheelchair. What kind of shenanigans can I get into?"

Quinn laughed. It was weird for Artie to hear her laughing with him in such a friendly way.

"So, how did _you_ convince your parents to let you go?" he inquired.

Quinn was quiet for a moment before responding. "Actually, it's _parent_, singular; I just live with my mom. Since she screwed up last year by not helping out when I was pregnant, she's been trying to make it up to me, so it's not like she really _could_ say no."

"Oh," Artie said. The word hung between them awkwardly before he added, "You should've pressed her for a new car and puppy while you were at it."

Quinn laughed again, the awkwardness gone now. "You know, Artie, you're actually pretty devious. And brilliant. Maybe I'll take your advice."

"Maybe you should." He laughed, too.

"I'm going to go pack now," she said, and it was amazing how light and even _warm_ her tone was, the exact opposite of her icy suspicion from earlier in the choir room. "See you tomorrow."

Artie smiled a genuine smile for the first time since Brittany had broken up with him. "Okay. See ya." He hung up, still smiling, the road trip stretching ahead of him promisingly.

Things were definitely looking up.

* * *

Rachel had just gotten out of the shower when her cell phone rang to "Don't Rain on My Parade" by Barbra Streisand.

She quickly slipped into her fluffy white bathrobe, tied the sash around her waist, and hurried to where her phone buzzed atop her sink. Her heart jumped into her throat, and all she could think was _maybe it's Finn_.

With clumsy fingers, she quickly picked it up and checked the caller ID; her heart popped like a pin to a balloon – of course it wasn't Finn. She should've known that, as he had his own special ringtone ("All My Loving" by the Beatles).

Rather, her screen read "Noah Puckerman."

She flipped her phone open, her heart thudding and her legs a bit unsteady from her quickly fading burst of adrenaline. "Hello, Noah," she said, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Hey, Rach," he said. "'Sup?"

"I just got out of the shower," she said, wrapping a towel around her slightly dripping hair skillfully with the hand not holding her phone to her ear.

He smirked, his mind beginning to go down a path Rachel would probably not appreciate….

Apparently, she was telepathic. "Noah," she said firmly. "Stop."

He rolled his eyes at her bossiness. "Who takes a shower this early?"

"I usually take one a little later, but considering I still need to pack and then go to bed at a good time for the big day tomorrow…."

Puck grinned. "So you're going?"

"Yes," she said. "My dads think it would be a good cultural experience for me, and I agree."

"Cool. Be at Artie's house tomorrow at six AM. And if his parents ask, we're picking him up for a Glee field trip."

Rachel's nose scrunched up. "I don't know if I feel comfortable lying to them."

"Then don't. Artie and I will do all the talking."

"Okay," she said, though this alternative didn't make her feel a whole lot better.

"It's the only way Artie can go," Puck pointed out.

_This_ made Rachel feel better – she may not exactly be friends with Artie, but her heart went out to him, and she figured he deserved a normal teen experience like a road trip.

"All right; where does he live?"

Puck read Artie's address off from the piece of paper. "You got it?"

"Yes," said Rachel. She repeated it back to him.

"Yup, that's it. I'll see you bright and early. B –"

But before he could finish the word 'bye,' Rachel cut him off. "Noah…can I be honest with you?"

Bold, brazen Rachel Berry actually sounded kind of shy. _Huh_.

"No, I'd rather you lied to me," Puck said sarcastically. Then, in a gentler tone, "What is it?"

"I'm…" She walked into her bedroom from her adjoining bathroom and sat on the end of her bed, looking into her mirror as she spoke. "Well…I'm kind of nervous. About this whole road trip. What exactly will it entail?"

"The whole point of it is that we _don't_ know," Puck said, struggling to keep the annoyance from his tone. It wasn't really working too well, as he'd always had trouble hiding his emotions. "That's what makes it an adventure."

Rachel didn't know if she really liked this answer or not, but it was the only one she had, so she'd better at least accept it. "An adventure _does_ sound appealing…" she hedged.

"Yeah, it's going to be awesome, just please tone down your you-ness, okay?"

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed and she turned away from her reflection, righteous anger searing through her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can be irritating as hell, and you'd better not try to make us sing show tunes in the car."

"Whatever, Puckerman," she glared at the phone even though she knew he couldn't see her. "You'd better lose the attitude." And she flipped her phone closed while she still had some dignity.

Puck listened to the line go dead before ending his side of the call, huffing at Rachel's typical behavior. Half of him was starting to regret inviting her, but the other half was more excited than ever.

He could make whatever predictions he wanted to about the upcoming trip with Rachel, Quinn, and Artie, but he certainly couldn't say it would be boring.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! :D First off, thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews; I always love to hear from you guys, so keep reviewing. Next, I apologize for the ridiculously long time it's taken me to update. :-/ I will try to update much more frequently, but don't count on me posting a chapter a day like I was able to do over Christmas break.

Anyway, here's the next chapter; I hope it was well-worth the wait. XD This is it guys; the next chapter is officially the road trip! *Does excited happy-dance* Whoo-hoo! :) haha.

* * *

Chapter Five

_Early Saturday morning._

The sun woke early but lazily, stretching its arms into the sky amidst a burst of dark pinks and pale blues. Wispy white clouds drifted by a cool breeze. It was one of those mornings that promised a beautiful day of joy and new beginnings.

It was almost six o'clock. Artie was all ready, his single large brown suitcase set at his feet and his wallet recently filled from a long-overdue break of his piggy bank. He wore a navy blue button-down with black suspenders and his favorite, comfiest pair of jeans. He wasn't sure what on-the-road attire consisted of, but he figured he couldn't go wrong with his tried-and-true look.

At 5:56, the doorbell rang. His parents – usually the type to sleep in until noon – had gotten up special this morning, so they could make sure Artie had everything he needed for his "Glee field trip," and so they could send him off.

Artie's dad, a handsome man with thick dark hair like Artie and intelligent-looking glasses, answered the door. There stood Quinn, armed with a large purple bag, her purse, and a huge designer rolling suitcase.

Seeing her without her cheerleading uniform was like seeing Superman without his cape. It was especially strange seeing her right _now_, at Artie's front door of all places, without a trace of make-up (she was still inhumanly beautiful, of course) and her pale blonde hair styled atop her head in a twist. She wore a pair of dark jeans, red ballet flats, and simple white blouse with capped sleeves.

For some reason, Artie had never been attracted to Quinn Fabray – sure, anyone with eyes and a pulse could conclude she was gorgeous and had a great body, but, frankly, she wasn't his type. He liked artsy, uniquely pretty people.

But seeing her looking so _natural_…well, it made him feel nervous. Maybe it was just because the Queen of McKinley High was entering his house, lugging her things behind her and smiling gratefully at his dad when he lent a helping hand – for whatever reason, Artie's throat suddenly felt a bit dry.

Artie's parents introduced themselves and shook hands with Quinn. She was perfectly polite, her winsome smile never once faltering.

"You must be Rachel," Mrs. Abrams said, smiling her big, pretty smile. She had dark eyes that seemed to sparkle, and laugh lines that added to her beauty rather than detracted.

Quinn's smile turned just a tad sour, and Artie coughed to cover a snicker.

"No, actually, I'm Quinn," she said.

"Oops," Mrs. Abrams laughed. "Sorry, dear."

"Do you want me to put your bags in the back of the car?" Mr. Abrams asked.

"That would be great, thanks," she said, letting him take her purple bag and designer suitcase but leaving her purse strung over her shoulder.

She turned to Artie. "Am I the first one here?"

"Yeah," he said, his nervousness gone and replaced by excitement.

He was actually going to do something a real teenager would do – a road trip adventure with friends (well, if you could call them that) and going behind his parents back to do it. Okay, so he felt kind of guilty about that last part, but he knew they wouldn't let him go otherwise, and a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right?

Quinn sat down at the end of the couch; Artie was just a few feet away in his wheelchair.

"Do you think Puck's actually going to show, or was this whole thing a dumb joke on his part and he's still at home sleeping?" she asked Artie from the corner of her mouth, but she needn't whisper because his mom had went into the kitchen.

Artie frowned at the thought. "He better show up. I mean, that would be a pretty lame joke, right?"

Quinn gave Artie a look. "It would, but this is _Puck_ we're talking about. Not exactly the brightest bulb in the box."

Artie chuckled, but his stomach dipped uncomfortably. What if this all _was_ a joke and Artie had gotten his hopes up for nothing? He would have nothing to show Brittany he was an adventurous badass, and then she'd never take him back.

The clock chimed – it was exactly six. So, of course, Mr. Abrams walked back into the house with none other than a perfectly punctual Rachel beside him. She was midsentence as she came inside. "…never told me that it was a musical with an all-male cast!"

Mr. Abrams laughed heartily. "Artie, why didn't you tell me you had such funny friends?" he asked.

Artie was too preoccupied with taking in Rachel's outfit to answer.

What _the_ – ! … She'd taken it a bit too far.

She looked like she was about to go exploring through the jungle with her dark brown, starchy shirt tucked into a pair of khaki shorts. She wore black knee-high socks that clashed terribly with the shirt, and a pair of brand new, shining black hiking boots with golden studs along the sides. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail…

…and she was wearing an honest-to-God, beige _safari hat_.

"Oh. My. God." Quinn's jaw dropped. She crooked her head toward Artie and whispered, "Please tell me she's joking."

"Is that a fanny pack?" Artie's eyes bulged at the black contraption buckled around Rachel's waist, containing her 'essential travel items' (water bottle, cell phone, wallet, and lip balm).

Quinn nodded gravely.

Mrs. Abrams walked back into the room. "Oh, hello, _you_ must be Rachel," she said with a friendly smile.

Rachel grinned from ear to ear and pulled Artie's mom in for a hug. Artie and Quinn exchanged raised eyebrows: Rachel Berry, Class A suck-up.

"Rachel, where's your stuff?" Artie asked her, deciding he should at least _try_ to be nice.

"Oh, your dad already helped me load it in the car," she said. She looked around the room and then asked, "Where's Noah?"

"I'm beginning to think he did the smart thing and bailed," Quinn replied grumpily.

Rachel checked the Abrams' giant grandfather clock – it was only a few minutes past six; Puck was probably just running late.

A knock came at the opened door. There he stood, hands in his pockets and a bored expression on his face.

He looked ruggedly handsome in an old black leather jacket and clean white shirt. He exuded something dangerous, and Rachel couldn't help but to compare him to Finn's clean-cut, all-American boy look. And then her heart squeezed painfully at the thought of her ex (oh, what a tragic word!)-boyfriend.

Puck had a broad, dark blue hiking backpack on his shoulders. Well, he'd certainly packed light.

"Hey, you guys ready to go?" he questioned, almost in monotone. None of them would ever have guessed that he was actually kind of…well, _excited_ for this trip.

"Nice of you to finally show," Quinn said, standing up from the couch.

Puck wore the same jacket from the day they'd first hooked up behind Finn's back (way back when Quinn and Finn were dating), and Quinn felt a bit queasy seeing it. Because thinking of how she'd cheated on Finn reminded her of how Sam had cheated on _her_.

Puck didn't reply, as he was too busy staring at Rachel with his eyebrows raised so high, they were practically blending in with his Mohawk.

She looked ten times dorkier than usual, as if she were just _begging_ to get a slushie thrown at her. And yet…her legs looked long and lean under those shorts, and she was so audaciously _peppy_ for this early in the morning, with that gigantic raring-to-go smile.

It was endearing, to say the least.

"Where did you say you're going again, Artie?" Mr. Abrams asked, coming up behind his son to place a hand on his shoulder. Artie looked up and smiled at his dad, feeling a stab of guilt at seeing his kind, trusting face.

"We're, um, driving up to Michigan," he said. "To check out some possible competition for Nationals, and you know, uh, hang-out."

"Okay, just be careful and have fun," Mr. Abrams said.

"And check in with us every night," added Mrs. Abrams walking over to her son to kiss him on his forehead. She ruffled his hair, and Artie wasn't even embarrassed at his parents doting over him. A tiny, secret smile tugged at Quinn's lips at the sweet sight, but she felt sad knowing she wasn't nearly that close with her own parents.

Mr. Abrams nodded toward Puck. "You're driving, right, young man?"

"Yeah," said Puck. Rachel flinched, wishing he had said 'yes, sir' instead. She always felt uncomfortable when her peers used poor manners toward adults.

Mr. Abrams walked over to Puck, looked him right in the eyes, and pressed the key to the mini-van into his hand. "Take good care of my son, all right, boy? I don't want him to get hurt." He paused, and then a grin split across his face. "Oh, yeah, and take care of Artie, too, okay?"

Puck chuckled, kind of confused by the joke, while Artie complained, "_Da-ad!_"

Mr. Abrams laughed, clapped Puck on the shoulder, and collected Artie's bags. "All right, let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

Five minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Abrams had put Artie's things into the trunk of the mini-van, along with Quinn's, Puck's backpack, and the giant stack of matching pink luggage that could only belong to Rachel. They showed the group how the wheelchair ramp came up and down from the mini-van by control of a lever, where to put Artie's wheelchair, and how to buckle him into the back seat (which, they said, he should opt to sit in rather than the front, as the back seat it could prop his legs up and keep them elevated for added comfort).

After Artie was buckled in, they hugged him and said their final good-byes before heading back into the house. They would've stayed to see the kids off, but Artie had insisted they go back to bed, as they both looked tired.

Puck got into the driver's seat while Rachel and Quinn both stayed on the sidewalk, silently debating over which one should get in the back with Artie and which should get in the front with Puck.

Quinn always preferred shotgun, as she felt less confined that way, but did she really want to spend the beginning of this questionable trip beside _Puck?_

"I'll sit in the front," Rachel decided, seeing as how this would give her more control over the radio.

Quinn shrugged and took the individual seat behind Puck's. She looked at Artie and smiled, trying to pump herself up and not start having second thoughts about this so-called "adventure."

"You comfortable?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Are you?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah; these seats are pretty nicely padded."

"One of the many benefits of the Handicap Special," Artie joked.

Quinn giggled and shook her head; Artie was surprising her with his humor, both funny and slightly self-deprecating.

Rachel climbed into the front passenger seat and buckled up. Then, she whipped out a box of doughnuts she'd stashed in the glove box when she'd arrived at the Abrams', wanting to leave them as a surprise.

"I brought provisions!" she sang, brandishing the bright white box so those in the back could see.

Quinn had to admit that was really thoughtful of Rachel. "Thanks," she said, her stomach suddenly growling in agreement. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," said Artie. "That was really nice of you, Rachel."

"Give Puckerone one of those, will ya? Maybe you could feed it to me, since I'll be too busy driving."

Rachel rolled her eyes and ignored him. "I'll pass them out in a moment. Because, _first_," she rummaged around within one of the front pockets of her shorts before pulling out some packets, "I wanted to show you these." She handed them to Puck.

He flipped through them, arching one eyebrow. "What are they?"

"Three different maps of Ohio: one is coded by cities; one, by districts; and one, by counties. Ooh, and I brought four identical itineraries, one for each of us, all partially filled out to get us going on our day."

"Cool; can I see those?" Puck asked, pointing to the itineraries she'd pulled from her seemingly bottomless pocket.

"Of course," she grinned sunnily and handed them over to Puck. Big mistake.

He promptly ripped them up, along with the three maps; Rachel's eyes widened in outrage. "Hey! What do you think you're doing! I stayed up late making those!"

"Rachel," Puck sighed, tossing the shredded papers atop the dashboard. "How long is it going to take for the whole _spontaneous_ factor of a true road trip to sink into your thick skull?"

She crossed her arms stubbornly and grumbled, "I was just trying to help."

Quinn discreetly reached for the doughnut box and nabbed a strawberry-frosted one for her and one of the chocolate ones she saw Artie eyeing, handing it to him. They clinked their doughnuts together in cheers and grinned conspiratorially at each other.

"I get that, but it would be so much better if you _didn't _try," Puck said.

"I can see that my organizational skills are going to waste here," Rachel shot back. "Fine – from now on, I will not help plan this road trip, no matter how much you beg me."

"Do you promise?" Puck asked, with such unabashed hope that Quinn and Artie had to bite down on their fists to keep from bursting out in laughter. Puck and Rachel might've been annoying, especially when together, but you couldn't say they weren't entertaining.

Rachel huffed indignantly and grabbed a rainbow-sprinkled, chocolate-frosted doughnut for herself. "One more quip out of you, and you're banned from the doughnuts, Puckerman," she warned.

That definitely shut him up.

"So, where do we go now?" Artie asked. "Do we just drive around aimlessly until finding something interesting?"

Puck drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He finally buckled his seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out of the Abrams' driveway.

"Actually," he said with a wide grin, "I know just the place."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Wow, it has been an awfully _loooong_ time since I have updated. I hope you guys are still interested in this story, and I hope any new readers will enjoy it a lot, as well. :D Please remember to review, for it encourages me to update. Thank you all so much for all of the past reviews and such; you guys really are the best!

* * *

Chapter Six

_Saturday morning._

They'd been cruising down the highway for two hours now. Rachel watched as green farmlands dotted with bright red barns passed by, the spiraling windmills' blades seeming to wave her _bon voyage_.

So far, nothing too interesting had happened. They'd gone through the entire box of three dozen doughnuts (most having been consumed by Puck). They'd all battled over the radio, but finally – after much deliberating – had decided that each would get control of the tunes for an hour before it was the next person's turn.

Puck had chosen old school rock and roll, but thankfully for Rachel, his turn was almost up and then she could put in one of the many Broadway CDs she'd brought.

Quinn had fallen asleep almost immediately after eating, putting on her pale pink silk sleeping mask that read 'Princess' on it in white gemstones and curling up against the window with her matching hot pink fluffy pillow and blanket. Her legs were spread out from her seat all the way into Artie's, where her feet rested on his lap.

He would've pushed them away had she not looked so comfortable and peaceful as she snoozed. _Like an angel,_ he thought, which was ironic considering that Quinn wasn't always the nicest person. Though lately, Artie felt like a strange sort of friendship was beginning to grow between them.

He was listening to his iPod, his head resting against his seat and his eyes closed as he mouthed along to the music.

All in all, the beginning of the trip was quiet and, frankly, a bit boring, as far as Rachel was concerned. She turned her gaze from the window and to Puck's profile, watching as he sang quietly to the music.

"Noah," she said, "are we there yet?"

Puck smirked.

"What?"

"It's not officially a road trip until somebody asks that," he explained.

Rachel made a mental note to later write that down in her journal, under the section she'd labeled 'Road Trip Do's and Don'ts.'

"I hate to say this, but I'm sort of bored," she admitted, tapping her fingertips against the cuffs of her khakis.

Puck rolled his eyes. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Entertain me."

"Okay…um…I spy with my little eye something – " He was interrupted by Rachel covering her mouth as she exploded into giggles.

He stole a quick look at her before turning his eyes back to the road. Part of him felt like getting defensive that she was laughing at him, but another part of him was letting this stupid smile stretch across his face because Rachel's giggle was actually really adorable, and she looked kind of…well…_pretty_ when she wasn't scowling like a bitter grandmother.

"What?" he demanded, fighting back that treacherous smile of his and trying to look irritated.

"Nothing," she said, sitting up straighter as her expression returned to normal. But then her mouth twisted as she held back her own smile, and she couldn't control the next wave of laughter.

"_What_?" Puck repeated, but now he was laughing, too. Rachel's laugh was so pure and clear and kind of goofy, punctuated by little gasps for air; it was contagious.

"I don't know, it's just – never in my wildest dreams did I imagine hearing you say something so…_silly_. 'I spy with my little eye'?" She shook her head as if embarrassed for him.

"Fine, then ask Wheels to entertain you. I'm not going to be made a fool of."

"Trust me, you don't need my help with _that," _Rachel quipped, shaking her head at Puck's delicate pride. She checked the clock. "You know, it's actually almost time for me to pick the music."

"Don't remind me," Puck grimaced.

"I'll be gracious enough to let you pick between my top choices – the soundtrack to _Singin' in the Rain_ or _Annie_?"

Puck blew a sigh from between his clenched teeth. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

_Late Saturday morning._

Quinn awoke a couple of hours later, when Puck drove over a particularly bumpy pothole. Rather than her eyes flutter open and she stretch awake gracefully, she jerked upward and reflexively kicked out. Her feet hit something solid.

"_Oww!_"

She bolted up and whipped off her sleeping mask, heart pounding. _Oops!_ – She'd kicked Artie in the chin. He pushed her legs away from him and rubbed at his tender jaw.

Puck, having witnessed this from the rearview mirror, laughed loudly. Quinn flushed and sat forward; for some reason, she really hoped Artie wasn't mad at her. Well, he _was_ the only halfway-normal person on this trip other than her. And he had turned out to be surprisingly fun to be around and sort of hilarious. But still, why should she care if he was upset with her?

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly, shooting him a rueful look. _Smooth, Quinn,_ she thought.

To her surprise, rather than grunting in that way guys did when brushing away an apology, Artie merely chuckled. "It's okay; that was actually the first exciting thing to happen all morning. Well, other than Rachel's Safari Barbie look."

"Hey! I heard that!" Rachel huffed. "And I'll have you know, studies have proven that having the right outfit can improve your mood."

Puck took the exit ramp and took a right, bringing the car's speed gradually down. They passed by a sign that read 'Welcome to Pittsdale.'

"I've never heard of this town before," said Quinn.

"No surprise there," said Artie, adjusting his glasses as he peered out the window. "It's practically deserted." He half-expected a tumbleweed to roll by as he took in the crumbling warehouses and greasy burger joints.

"I hope you guys are hungry again," Puck said, pulling up in front of a small building with a giant plastic hamburger on its roof. "Welcome to Fat Boy'z Burger 'n Fries!" His excited tone suggested the run-down place was as prestigious as a five-star gourmet restaurant.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "I don't eat anywhere with the word 'fat' in the title."

"And I don't eat anywhere that spells 'boy's' with a 'z'," added Artie, staring at the place in disbelief.

"And I'm a vegan!" Rachel put in, shooting an offended look at Puck. As if he could actually forget – _please_.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Come on! You guys are totally cramping my style; stop whining, will you?" He turned his pointed gaze toward Rachel. "They have veggie burgers, okay? Give me some credit."

"Fine," said Quinn. "I mean, it _would_ be nice to stretch my legs."

"And I have to pee so badly that I feel like my bladder may explode," said Artie.

"Too much information on that last part, but yeah, get in the spirit!" Puck clapped his hands together and cut the engine.

* * *

About ten minutes later, after piling out of the car and helping Artie into his wheelchair, and after Artie had done his business in the men's room, the group approached the counter and checked out the menu. There was no employee in site.

"Excuse me?" Rachel called out, leaning over the counter and peering into the kitchen. Puck caught his gaze falling onto her cute, tight butt as she did so, and he quickly looked away before he completely lost his mind. Checking out _Rachel Berry_ of all people?

"You have loyal customers waiting out here!" She was practically screaming.

"Rachel!" Quinn scolded, pressing her hand to her forehead as if the embarrassment was physically affecting her.

"Yo, Greasy Steve, get your ass out here!" Puck cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

Artie didn't know whether to grimace or laugh. "_Greasy Steve?_" he repeated.

"Somebody say my name?" boomed a boisterous voice. Out came a short Latino man with a shiny bald head and a black handlebar mustache. The sweat rings around the armpits of his white tank top definitely brought about the image of greasiness.

Rachel immediately jumped away from the countertop, as if his unsavory appearance were contagious.

A giant grin stretched across the man's mouth, making his mustache bristle. "'Ey! If it ain't the General!"

Quinn, Artie, and Rachel all looked at each other, their lips curling into amused smirks. _Puck - The General?_

Puck grinned back and slapped a high-five with the man, drawing him in so they could give each other a hearty pat on the back. "Greasemonkey, how ya doin'?"

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow. "_A-hem!_"

'Greasy Steve' looked her up and down, his grin widening so much that his eyes practically disappeared within the meaty folds of his face. "What, you kiddies about to go hiking through the forest or somethin'?"

Rachel pressed her lips together in distaste while Puck snickered. "Nah, man, this is just Rachel. Please excuse her; she's probably the biggest dork I've ever met." She would've slapped his arm in protest, but the weird thing was, Puck said it almost as if it were a compliment.

Quinn subtly bent down and whispered into Artie's ear in a dramatic Southern-belle accent, "What a _lovely_ establishment you have here, Greasy Steve." She fluttered her eyelashes so rapidly that it looked like they were about to take flight.

Her warm, gentle breath sent shivers all down Artie's neck, and he had to stick his fingerless-gloved knuckle in his mouth to keep from bursting out in hearty guffaws. Quinn dissolved into giggles, gave Artie a friendly squeeze on his shoulder, and stood back up before anyone could notice she'd just poked fun at Greasy Steve.

"So, Mr. Steve, sir, Puck tells me you serve vegan-meals in the vein of veggie burgers and such, but when I consulted your overhead menu, I did not – "

Greasy Steve laughed so loudly and abruptly that Rachel jumped. "Damn, General, when did you start hanging out with such smarty-farty friends? This one sounds like she swallowed a dictionary! Y'know, sweet thing, your meal is on the house."

Rachel's eyebrows jumped skyward at 'sweet thing,' but she knew better than to issue some fiery retort and then not have a free meal.

"And you, blondie," Greasy Steve jabbed a finger at Quinn, smirking lecherously. "You can _definitely_ eat for free, too."

Quickly and none-too-subtly, Quinn stepped behind Artie, using him as her protector. He was both stunned and flattered by this – she was choosing him to help her, a boy in a wheelchair? As if he was just as powerful as football-player Puck.

Puck chuckled at Greasy Steve's antics. "'Ey, lay off the girls, okay? I think you're starting to scare them."

"All right, all right; sorry, ladies. So, what'll it be?"

"Do you have salad?" asked Rachel a bit tentatively.

"_Do I have salad?_" Greasy Steve echoed, saying it as if it were the most preposterous question in the world. A small grin of relief started to pull Rachel's lips upward.

"Of _course_ I don't have salad," he said, waving his hand through the air. Rachel's grin twisted into a scowl.

"What kind of dumb vegetable stand do you think I'm runnin'? It's meat, or it's veggie burgers, got it?"

"I'll have a veggie burger, then," she declared defiantly, staring daggers at Greasy Steve. "And a glass of water. No lemon."

"I'll have a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake," said Artie.

"You know what, make that two of everything he's having," Quinn said. She shot a playfully stern look toward Artie. "But don't get used to this negative influence over me – it just so happens I'm craving some gloriously unhealthy food."

"Get me the regular," said Puck, pulling out his wallet.

"Aye, aye, General," said Greasy Steve, and then he actually _saluted_ Puck. "But don't worry about paying – it's all free of charge. Least I could do for ya."

Puck's smile was grateful and, for once, devoid of any cockiness. "Thanks, man."

Rachel and Quinn shared a look: _What was _that _all about?_

Greasy Steve hit the bell on the counter: _ding, ding_. "Orders up!" he called, hurrying into the back to whip up the group's meals.

They made their way to a sizeable square-top table for four. Puck kicked one of the chairs away so Artie could park his wheelchair in its place. Quinn quickly sat on one side of Artie, shooting him a small smile.

Rachel regarded this turn of events: weird as it was, a friendship had already connected the two, though considering the other options of possible pals (Puck or herself; yeah, right), it wasn't all that surprising.

Rachel sat down on the other side of Quinn, which left Puck between herself and Artie.

"So, how'd you find out about this place?" Rachel asked Puck, placing some napkins on her lap and tucking one into the front of her shirt in a bib.

"Greasy Steve used to date my mom," he said, as if it were the most natural answer in the world.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "_Oh?_"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Now mind your own business, okay?"

_Mind your own business _– Sam had said that to her when she'd told him about discovering those horrid texts in his phone. Suddenly, Quinn wasn't very hungry.

Rachel noticed how Quinn's previously relaxed posture had tightened considerably, and how her eyes were now guarded and far-away. She discreetly leaned in toward Quinn, not wanting to catch the boys' attention. "You okay?"

Quinn turned an indecipherable gaze toward Rachel's caring one. "Fine."

"You don't _look_ fine," Rachel whispered.

"Drop it, okay?" Quinn hissed, but Rachel's kindness toward her, always given when she was least deserving of it, combined with the pain of Sam's betrayal, made stubborn, cold tears fill Quinn's eyes.

She quickly jumped out of her seat, muttered "restroom," and dashed off through the door marked 'Ladies.'

"What's her problem?" Puck asked. "PMS?" He snickered stupidly at his own dumb joke.

Artie stared after Quinn, concern spreading across his face. "Was she crying?" he asked Rachel.

"No," Rachel scoffed. "She just had to use the restroom." Half of her felt like telling Puck and Artie the truth: that ever-perfect Quinn Fabray was breaking down like a big baby. She was pretty sick of how mean Quinn was to her. But she knew Quinn must've still been upset about her break up with Sam, and considering how much thinking about Finn hurt Rachel, she could definitely relate.

Puck went back to whatever he had been thinking about, buying Rachel's excuse, but Artie knew there was more to the story. He cast one last curious look toward Rachel, silently asking her to divulge more information, but she remained quiet.

* * *

Quinn splashed water on her face, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that strange shapes appeared against the darkness. It was the only way to block off her tears. She was grateful she'd forgone the make-up this morning, even if she did look a bit pale and less glamorous without her mascara and eyeliner.

God, she _needed_ to have this horrible feeling _go away_. If she were completely honest, she wasn't hurt so much by the fact that she and Sam had broken up – truthfully, they'd never really had great chemistry together; he'd just been the seemingly dependable, nice guy who'd given her a breather from the baby-drama-fall-from-grace of last year. And he'd helped get her popularity back on top.

Mainly, the whole thing hurt so much because Quinn felt stupid and used and really, really _angry_. She felt like she'd been living a lie for the few months she'd been with him, and once again a boy had turned out to only like her for her good looks and coolness factor. Why couldn't anyone ever just accept her for who she _is_, not how hot she'd look on their arm?

She dried off her face with some tan paper towels, sucked in a few calming breaths, and stared at her reflection. _Pull it together, Quinn_. Inner pep talks were cheesy, but they actually worked. _Don't let that stupid boy – c'mon, you can say his name! – don't let _Sam_ ruin your fun. Get back at him by bouncing back from the incident – from him CHEATING ON YOU – stronger than ever! You can do it, Fabray!_

She grinned at herself until her smile didn't look fake and only then did she finally return back to the table.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Once again, thank you all SOOOO much for all of the fantastic reviews and continued support. XD It really does mean the world to me. I hope you will continue giving me your feedback! I'm sorry it took me so long to update again, but hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for the delay. :)

**Shameless Self Promotion:** I have a new fanfiction out called _Finding Prince Charming_ that I am rather proud of. :D It's Faberry with some Klaine-Faberry friendship and Quick friendship. Please check it out and let me know what you think! I'd really love to hear from you guys. (I wish this thing would let me put the cute little heart at the end, but whatever, just know that I {heart symbol} you guys.)

* * *

Chapter Seven

_Early Saturday afternoon._

"Nice of you to rejoin us," Puck said when Quinn retook her seat. "Our food arrived while you were gone."

She looked at the plate before her, loaded with thick, crispy French fries and a whopper of a delicious-smelling cheeseburger. She could feel the cold air wafting from the large, frosted glass of chocolate milkshake beside her food. Her appetite immediately returned at the sight and smell of the delectable morsels.

"Wow," she said. "I take back all the _major_ doubts I had about this place."

Puck was digging into his chili dog, and Rachel was eyeing him with distaste. "Noah," she reprimanded. "You're going to choke if you don't slow down." In response, he ate faster.

Quinn said a quick prayer of thanks to God before eating, but when she was done, rather than go right to her own food, she gauged Artie's reaction to his cheeseburger. He was chewing, slowly, thoughtfully.

"Taste good?" she asked him.

He nodded, smiling a close-lipped smile so as not to show the half-chewed burger in his mouth. His cheeks bulged, and though it made him look goofy, it was also sort of…cute.

Quinn chuckled and picked up her own cheeseburger and bit into it: an explosion of _awesomeness_ into her mouth. She gave Puck a thumbs-up, letting him know he'd done good with picking out this place.

But Puck was too busy watching the way Rachel held her veggie burger, the way she brought it to her mouth and bit off small portions with precision and delicacy. He couldn't help but laugh.

Rachel shot him a look and quickly swallowed her food. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She suddenly felt a bit self-conscious at being looked at that way by Puck, this knowing smirk curved through his face.

"It's just…even when you eat, you're, like, so…_anal_." His smirk intensified at his own word choice.

She huffed. "Not everyone eats as if they were raised by wolves, Noah!"

"No, really, Rachel," Quinn said, not cruelly but rather playfully, "he's right." She pretended to look back and forth for any extra witnesses and added, "That admission doesn't leave the table."

Rachel ignored them and continued to take dainty nibbles of her food.

"Look, even me, the so-called princess of the group, is eating like a real person," Quinn tried again, pointing to the grease dribbling down her chin before wiping it off with her napkin. "_Enjoy_ your food; it makes it taste better."

Rachel didn't know what was more shocking – the fact that Quinn Fabray seemed to be joking around with her in a friendly manner, or the fact that Quinn and Puck were agreeing on something, even if it was at her own expense.

Artie smiled at Rachel. "I say, if you're going to give up meat, at least have fun with it."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You want unladylike?" she demanded. "Then I'll give you unladylike." And with that, she crammed half of the burger into her mouth, her cheeks as stuffed as a chipmunk's. She ripped off an enormous hunk with her teeth and gnashed the food with her mouth open.

Really, she didn't know what was possessing her to do it, other than that she was sick of the group nagging her, and for once, they were actually joking along _with_ her rather than _at_ her, and she was a bit tired of being so damn perfect, and if her being perfect wasn't enough for Finn, then why should she even bother anymore?

Quinn and Artie moaned "gross!" and "disgusting!" and Puck cheered "awesome!", and all three of them were cracking up. And Rachel couldn't help it – it _was_ kind of funny, and she felt so goofy and _free_ – that she started laughing, too, even with her mouth overflowing with food. She managed to swallow some of the veggie burger (which did taste pretty awesome) but had to spit out most in one of her many napkins.

She and Quinn locked eyes, dissolving into girlish giggles, and then she saw Artie, guffawing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks, and then her eyes met Puck's, and something about the kind way he was looking at her, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter, sent a wave of warmth all the way through her.

Maybe this was what it was like to have friends.

* * *

_Saturday afternoon._

Thirty minutes later, after eating, hitting the restrooms, and saying their good-byes and thank yous to Greasy Steve, the group was loaded back into the mini-van and back on the road.

The mood was considerably more charged and hyper, the atmosphere lighter, and their demeanors more awake than at the wee morning hours. It was now almost twelve-thirty, and the sun's rays were warm enough to bathe the scenery in sunshine-y goodness but not hot enough to invoke pumping the air-conditioning.

It was Quinn's turn to pick the music, and she'd decided on some station that played the latest hits. They were the guilty pleasure type songs – you know all the words and belt it out to the mirror with your hairbrush-turned-microphone, but you wouldn't ever admit to someone that you actually _liked_ that bubblegum-pop-dance-techno crap.

They were all singing at the top of their lungs, but rather than the pitch-perfect wonderfulness you would expect from a Glee club, they were screaming rather than actually _singing_ the words, and everyone, except for Rachel, was a bit off-key.

Artie was laughing so hard that the words left him in a wheeze; he clutched at his sides, gasping for breath, the song sounding like a bull frog's dying croak as it left him.

Quinn, sitting in the back with him, was the one forced to hear this strange sound, and it made her burst into a fit of laughter as well. She leaned over and lightly shoved his shoulder. "_Shut…up!_" she mouthed, her high-pitched giggles stealing the very breath from her lungs.

Artie reached over and playfully shoved her back. She feigned offense before pushing him again, but he caught her smaller hands within the warmth of his own. They pushed against each other's palms, crazed giggles from both of them like school-girls, their eyes locked as an intense sort of comradery flowed between them.

Rachel turned the radio down until it was practically off, twisted around in her seat, and threw the shredded bits of map she'd crumpled into a ball at Artie and Quinn; it bounced between them and their necks swiveled toward her, still grinning like fools. And even though they stopped pushing against each other, Rachel noticed that they were still holding hands and leaning toward one another.

"Stop having so much fun!" Rachel teased. "That's an order."

Puck looked through the rearview mirror, noticed the position the two were in, and wolf-whistled. "Damn, getting it on in the backseat all ready? Please, horn dogs, save it for the motel."

Quinn and Artie immediately dropped hands and jerked back into their own seats as if they'd electrocuted each other, suddenly not able to hold eye-contact. Artie blushed redder than a tomato, his face and neck unbearably hot; Quinn's fair cheeks were a bright pink, and she was suddenly very interested in an invisible thread at the hemline of her blouse.

Puck sure knew how to ruin a perfectly good moment.

Rachel slapped him on the shoulder. Hard.

"_Ouch!_" he snapped, briefly shooting her a fierce glare before turning his eyes back to the winding roads before him. "What the hell was that for!"

"For being a complete idiot!" she retorted. "None of us here are going to be _getting it on_, okay? Stop making everything awkward. Oh, and what do you mean _motel?_ You do mean _hotel_, like with an 'H', right?"

Puck ignored her, knowing that would only rile her more.

"_Excuse me, _Noah, I am _talking_ to you!"

"Yeah, I know, people all the way in freaking Africa can hear you!"

"Oh, don't be racist!" Rachel snarled.

"What the f – " he interrupted his own curse word with a shake of his head. "How was that racist!"

Artie pulled out his iPod from his pocket, needing to block out the noise of Rachel and Puck's yells. Turning up some old school Bon Jovi should do the trick.

He noticed the uncomfortable look on Quinn's face; she didn't seem to like listening to arguing. Not that he blamed her, of course.

He put in one of the ear buds in his left ear and then wiped the other one off on his jeans to rid it of germs. Then, he gently tapped Quinn on the shoulder and offered it to her.

He grinned that conspiring grin they'd shared earlier when Quinn had nabbed those doughnuts; with just the slightest hesitation, she grinned back, took the ear bud, and stuck it into her right ear.

Artie hit 'Play' on "Wanted Dead or Alive," and Quinn scooted to where she was half on the edge of her seat and half on Artie's, her right shoulder lightly touching his left, their heads tilted toward each other.

If anyone asked, she didn't want to stretch out his headphones.

* * *

Puck and Rachel's argument literally went on for a record eight minutes and twelve seconds. When it was safe to pull themselves from their cocoon of guitar-heavy rock-and-roll, Quinn and Artie removed the ear buds and Artie wound them around his iPod before pocketing it.

"Thanks," Quinn said softly, a secretive smile lighting up her gorgeous light green eyes. "I would've gone insane if I'd had to listen to them. Well, more insane than I already am."

"No problem," Artie's grin was a bit shy, a bit teasing. "You know, the jury's still out on that. Your being insane, I mean."

"Let me know when they get back to you."

"You'll be the first."

* * *

Rachel swigged from her water bottle, savoring the feel of the smooth liquid replenishing her dried throat. Arguing with Puck appeared to not only have the emotional effects of annoyance and anger, but also a physical effect of strained vocal chords.

She snuck a quick glance at his profile; his olive complexion was flushed, and his mouth was settled into a hard, grim line. So, he was still pissed off. Rachel couldn't even remember why they'd started fighting in the first place, but it had spun out of control and turned into a competition for who could get the last word in and come out victorious. Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure who'd won – it was more of a draw, seeing as how the yelling and insult-tossing had fizzled out on its own.

Part of her wanted to rip into him some more, expose all of his flaws and shred into his deepest desires with slashing claws of fury; but another part, one strangely more dominant, wanted her to apologize. This trip was supposed to be _fun_ – there shouldn't be this heavy, awkward silence suffocating the very breath from her lungs, right?

Rachel settled for the tried and true – half-complaint, half-curiosity: "Are we there yet?"

Puck heaved a loud, drawn-out sigh. "_No_."

A beat of silence, and then Artie asked jokingly, "How about now?"

Puck snorted back a chuckle but didn't respond.

"How about…now?" Quinn asked playfully.

"And…_now_," said Artie, smirking.

"Or right this instant?" Rachel asked, her tone dripping with faux-innocence.

Puck was torn between laughing and yelling out in frustration; he settled for a strange grumbling sound that might've been a snicker. "God, could you dorkwads _be_ any…dorkwaddier?"

In a deep, hushed voice like a pretentious sports announcer's, Artie said: "And the lad makes a valiant effort; the old school move of redundant insulting, powered by the technique of unsure hesitance concealed as a dramatic pause. However, his dismount is shaky, and that will definitely detract a few points from his total score."

Everybody cracked up at that one, Puck actually laughing the hardest of all.

"Yes, Artie, but I think he saved himself in the end; he'll definitely get a higher rating due to his inventive vocabulary," Rachel added. Everyone laughed harder.

Puck momentarily pulled his eyes away from the endless stretch of highway before him and locked his gaze with Rachel's. They shared a smile, an it's-okay nod, and all was forgiven.

When the guffaws died down, everyone was silent. But it wasn't the awkward kind – it was the special kind of silence. The kind that soothes rather than suffocates; that kind that leaves a small smile curved at your lips, leaves a nice fullness in your heart.

A few minutes later, Rachel spoke. "We should play an on-the-road game. Puck here is a master at 'I Spy.'" She giggled at her own inside joke.

"No, that game is boring!" said Artie. "How about…"

"Name That Tune?" Rachel suggested. "Twenty Questions? Guess What I'm Thinking?"

Quinn quickly piped up before Rachel could rattle off another lame option. "I'm not one for car games. They're too tacky for me."

"Spare us the Snooty Bitch act," Puck said. "Please. It's just us. I'm the only cool one here you have to worry about impressing, and considering I've seen you puke a_ lot_ while you were pregnant, I'd say that ship has already sailed."

For once, Quinn didn't have a snappy comeback ready. Artie discreetly gauged her reaction from the corner of his eye; her face was completely unreadable, but her stony eyes widened.

"You know what, Noah?" Rachel said, her tone dangerously calm. "I am a bit insulted that you would just say that. Having the audacity to imply that you and Quinn are the only cool ones here?"

"I didn't _imply_ it; I straight _said_ it."

A lock of Rachel's hair had come loose from her ponytail around the front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear rather violently. "_Excuse me_?"

"You're excused," deadpanned Puck.

Rachel twisted around in her seat and bore her scarily determined look straight at Artie. "A little help here!" she said. "Aren't you offended by this, too?"

"No," Artie shrugged.

Rachel threw her arms up in exasperation. "Don't you have _any_ self-respect! Where's your dignity? Your pride? Why do you let people like Puck walk all over you?"

"No pun intended, I'm sure," Puck snickered.

Quinn's statue-like trance dropped instantly and she sprang forward, slapping Puck so hard against the back of his head that it was audible.

"HEY!" he shouted. "What the freaking hell, you crazy woman!"

"My God, Puck, could you be any more of an insensitive ass!" Quinn yelled, banging an enraged fist against the back of his seat's headrest. "You can't just _say_ stuff like that!"

A giant grin had settled into Artie's mouth; having Quinn stick up for him like this felt damn good. She was a strong person, the kind you definitely wanted fighting with you rather than against you.

"Oh yeah!" Puck retorted. He was so sick of everybody always ganging up on him; his temper flared, and he went for the jugular. "What about all the nasty stuff you say to Rachel? Like calling her Man Hands, and saying her clothes look like they come from a homeless librarian? And you call me mean names all the time, like 'idiot' or 'dumbass,' and you know what? It's not nice, Quinn!

And…and…oh, yeah! A few weeks ago, I overhead you talking to Santana about Artie and Brittany, and you said it was a wonder she hadn't dumped him already because he's too much of a loser for her. You said you figured she must have lost her mind. You called him a charity case! But then I make a light-hearted joke, and you freaking _slap me_? No, don't pull that Holier Than Thou shit on me, okay?"

Artie's grin fell right off his face, and his entire countenance darkened. His lower lip jutted out, and his eyebrows drew together. Guys like Puck might've been able to sexily brood after getting their feelings hurt, but guys like Artie just looked defeated and confused by all the bad luck life brought them. One hardball after another, cracked at a homerun, right into the heart.

Quinn didn't know why, but rather than feel fury towards Puck's honest rant, she felt ashamed of herself and completely humiliated by him bringing up all those horrible things she'd said in front of the people she'd said them about. She buried her face in her hands for a moment. The back of her neck burned, and soon her face did, too: she rarely blushed, but when she did, it was bright red and felt prickly and hot.

She tentatively stretched a hand out toward Artie, wanting to touch his shoulder in a consoling way. To catch his eye and mouth 'I'm sorry.' But he jerked away from her, positioning himself in his corner.

The silence was now the terrible stifling kind. The kind that made diving out of the car and taking your chances with the speeding-by pavement a more preferable option to staying here and listening to the quiet.

And then a sniffle broke the air like a gunshot, followed by a whimper of pain.

"Aw, _shit_," Puck murmured.

Rachel was crying. She broke out into loud, choking sounds punctuated with the occasional squeal of some pent-up emotion.

Quinn banged her head back against her seat and prayed for the floor below her to open up and swallow her whole. She'd take her chances with a foreign abyss as opposed to listening to Rachel's heartbreaking weeping.

Because now Quinn knew that all the times she had gleefully strolled off after verbally slicing into Rachel, _this_ had been the aftermath.

And that, coupled with the fact that her only ally on this trip now rightfully hated her, made her feel miserable and more than a little self-loathing.

What a good idea this road trip had been!

…Not.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thanks again for all of the wonderful, awesome support! XD I planned on updating this chapter sooner, but my computer was having Wi-Fi problems, then I caught a cold for a few days, but now all is finally well and rarin' to go.

I would love it if you would let me know your thoughts so far on the pairings, the friendships, the story, everything! :) It's always much appreciated.

And onward we go! :D *spanks rump of trusty steed and gallops further into the story*

* * *

Chapter Eight

_Saturday afternoon._

A few minutes and several soiled napkins later, Rachel had pulled herself together. The little bit of waterproof mascara she'd been wearing hadn't smudged, but now her long black eyelashes were separated into thick sections of triangles.

She gave her nose a final, noisy blow and kept her stare out the window. There was no way she was going to look at any of _them_ ever again.

She took a deep, shaky breath and felt her whole body shudder from it. Honing her inner diva, she rolled back her shoulders, raised her chin, and placed her hands in her lap. It was her regal stance, like the queen about to declare a wicked criminal's head to be chopped off.

"I want to go home," she declared.

Puck sucked in his cheeks and let them out with a smacking sound. "What?" His tone had been drained of any confrontation and had been left tired and colorless.

"I'm through with this nonsense," Rachel said, her own tone strong and sure. The exact opposite of the sobbing mess she'd been just a couple of minutes prior. "Either you take me home right this instant, or you drop me off at the nearest bus station. Or even some public place, where I can safely use my cell phone to call my dads for assistance."

"Look, Rachel," Puck started, but she cut him off.

"I mean it, Puckerman." It wasn't a yell, but somehow the calmness of it was more powerful than one.

"Yeah…me too," Artie said. "I'm going home."

"_What_? Come on now, guys!" Puck knew things hadn't been going too smoothly so far, but the trip had definitely had some nice moments. And it wasn't even the end of the first day yet! How could they already be calling it quits?

Quinn put as much malice as she could into every syllable she directed toward Puck. "Same here. It's over, Puck, okay? Just turn around and take us all home."

Puck slammed a fist against the steering wheel, accidentally honking the horn. The sound made Rachel jump. "No! I mean, Artie, what are you going to tell your parents? That the field trip randomly gets canceled, like, seven hours after you've already left?"

"I'll have to tell them the truth. But being grounded for life is better than spending even an extra minute here."

"So this is how it's going to be?" Puck shook his head in astonishment. There was a rising sense of panic in his chest; he couldn't believe how quickly everything had fallen apart. "We go to all this trouble – lying to the parentals, enduring the stale-corn-ass scent of Greasy Steve's cheap cologne – and you guys just want to _give up?_ If you want me to stop calling you losers so badly, then why don't you stop acting like a bunch of them!"

Choosing to ignore his little speech, Rachel said, "The next exit is only a few miles up ahead, so be prepared to get onto it."

"You know what?" Puck gritted his teeth together. "Fine. I'll take all of your sorry asses back home. I don't give a damn. But we're listening to what _I_ want to listen to, got it? And if any of you make so much as a peep, I'll kick you out to the side of the road. Well…not Artie, because it's his parents' car, but Quinn and Rachel, don't you two even try it!"

"God, you sound like my father," Quinn muttered under her breath.

Puck responded by turning the radio on, switching it to his favorite station, and cranking the volume way, way up.

* * *

Due to being lost in all his bitter thoughts, Puck accidentally missed the exit Rachel had been referring to. Before she even had a chance to bite his head off about it, he turned the radio down and quickly said: "I know, I know. I'll get the next one."

Surprisingly, she merely shrugged, but he figured all of them were as sick of arguing as he was.

The next exit was quite a ways up; Puck made sure to keep an eye out for it.

A red sports car zoomed up from behind, cut into the lane to their left, and then swerved madly in front of them. To avoid crashing into the car, Puck had to slam on the breaks, quickly check his blind spot, and swing into the right lane without even having time to draw a breath.

Quinn screamed in terror, one hand flying over her heart as her mouth fell open; Artie yelled and ducked under his own arms for cover; and Rachel actually let loose a few colorful profanities.

The person riding shotgun in the red sports car stuck his bare butt out the window and shot them the middle finger all in one motion before disappearing back into the car. The sound of the driver and passenger whooping it up with "yeee-aaahhh, looo-saaahhs!" and laughing like maniacs was loud and obnoxious.

"My God!" Puck exclaimed. It was no use trying to catch up to them in the Mom-tastic mini-van, and those jerks were long gone anyway; still, Puck rolled down his window and screamed some choice insults at them.

"We could've died!" Quinn said, her voice weak and small.

"I never would've gotten to be on Broadway," Rachel's eyes popped wide. "I would've tragically died at a mere sixteen years of age. They would've found my broken, bloodied body, with a single, beautiful tear still glistening from the corner of my eye. Finn would speak at my funeral, mourning his incredible loss: the only one he's ever truly loved, yanked away from him on the very night he was going to call and beg for her back. And then everyone who has ever wronged me will regret all – "

"Um…Rachel?" Artie said.

"Oh God…I'm talking out loud, aren't I?"

"Yep."

"…Oops."

"Forget the almost-dying part," Puck grouched, "I'm going to go freaking blind now after seeing that dude's hairy ass."

Despite their hard feelings toward him, everybody had to snigger at that.

"Hmmm…paralyzed _and_ blind – that should get me any scholarship to any school I want," Artie joked. Again, everyone chuckled at this, but then the air quickly turned sour again. No one was in the mood to kiss and make-up any time soon…if ever.

There weren't very many other cars around, but Puck made sure to be on the lookout for any other crazy people ready to play Psycho Bumper Cars with them.

Several minutes later, when they were about four miles away to the exit, they saw it.

Two cars had smashed into each other, positioned in a way where they completely blocked all three lanes of the highway. The wail of police sirens suddenly pierced the air; from the rearview mirror, Puck could see them speeding from way back, hurrying to the crash scene.

"Oh my God!" Rachel gasped. "Those poor people! I hope they're not hurt."

"Oh, wow… is that…?" Quinn didn't know whether to laugh at the irony of it or what.

"Yeah," Puck shook his head. "I guess the bastards got what was coming to 'em."

Sure of enough, one of the wrecked vehicles was the very same red sports car that had terrorized the four of them.

There was a row of varying automobile types that had gotten there first, already pulled aside and stopped. Puck parked at the end of the line in his lane, letting his car hug the shoulder so the police would be able to easily get by.

The cars weren't steaming with smoke or anything, and they weren't totaled. In fact, the two knuckleheads of the sports car were jumping out, waving their arms angrily at the lone person of the dark green vintage Mustang they'd hit. It was a good thing the police had just arrived, or else things could've quickly boiled into a fist-to-face confrontation.

"None of them look hurt, thank God," Rachel said.

"But Miss Karma is certainly a frisky little bee-yotch, because now their stupid car is ruined," Artie said.

"Serves them right for almost killing us," Quinn said bitterly.

For once, Puck was quiet. To the others, it appeared that he was taken aback by the enormity of everything: from being mooned by an idiot stranger to now seeing the stranger get his comeuppance just minutes after.

But, really, the wheels in his head were spinning.

This just _had_ to be fate.

There was no way they would be getting to the exit anytime soon; it was like a sign from God – a sign that plainly said, 'This road trip is not going to end before it even starts.'

He decided to go ahead and voice this epiphany. "You guys! Don't you see? Everything happens for a reason, right? Rachel, you have, like, a fortune cookie for a brain, with all your optimism and stuff. Isn't that what you always say? 'The show must go on,' 'there are no coincidences, only destiny,' et cetera?"

"So what?"

"_So_, what I'm _saying_ is, this is our destiny! This adventure! Our spring break. Spending it _together_, traveling from one unknown destination to the next. Come on, you can't say this wreck just randomly happened."

"It didn't randomly happen," Quinn agreed. "It happened because the idiot behind the wheel of the red car is a terrible driver."

"Come _on!_" Puck whined. "How can you guys deny this? C'mon, Rach, as my fellow Jew, don't you see what God is trying to tell us?"

Rachel laughed loudly in disbelief. "You seriously think God would go to all of that trouble to have the four of _us_ spend two weeks together?"

"Maybe," Puck answered. "But I don't believe this is all some coincidence. What are the odds those loons would be going around pulling hit-and-moons right here, right now, just a few miles before the nearest exit?"

"Considering the vast amount of idiots in the world, I would say the odds wouldn't be that high," Artie said.

"No," Puck said firmly. "You're all wrong. I'll prove it to you. There will be no taking you guys home; we'll wait for the road to clear, and then we're going through with this road trip, whether you all like it or not."

"What! But that's not fair!"

"You can't do that to us!"

"Take me home right this instant, Noah!"

"Ugh, Puck, why do you even care?"

"When did you become such a tyrant?"

"I guess I'll have to crawl home then!"

"GUYS!" Puck shouted. "SHUT! UUUP!" His hands were clamped over his ears.

They all snapped their mouths shut into silence.

He pulled his hands away and used them to comb through his Mohawk. "That's much better."

Artie opened his mouth, ready to start up his part again, but Rachel beat him to it.

"Okay, let me ask you one question, Noah. And if I approve of your answer, then I'll continue on with this culture experiment, as I prefer to call it."

"Yeah, sure, anything," he said.

"But you have to be honest," she said with life-or-death seriousness in her eyes. "Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, just say it already."

"Why do you care so much about this road trip?"

Artie and Quinn discreetly leaned forward, eager to hear his response.

Puck looked right into Rachel's eyes when he answered, his arms crossed over his chest. There was no way he was going to say the real, raw reason right now. He could barely admit it to himself, let alone to three people he fluctuated between disliking, sort of liking, hating, and sort of liking again.

So he settled for an answer that was truthful but not as sacred.

"Because I want to grab life by the balls, not sit around and wait for something exciting to happen. And earlier today you guys proved that you aren't as dull and lame as I thought you all were."

Rachel nibbled on her lower lip and mulled this over.

"Does that satisfy the mighty Miss Berry?" Puck asked.

She was quiet for a moment before answering. "Yes."

"How about you guys?" Puck asked, looking into the backseat at Quinn and Artie.

They exchanged an indecipherable look, but apparently they understood each other because they both hesitated and then nodded.

"Why not?" Quinn said with a sigh. "Maybe – and I mean that strongly – _maybe_ I won't even regret it."

"I'll continue with this weird trip, but let me state for the record that my decision is only based on the fact that returning home now would mean I would be lectured for all of eternity and _then_ grounded for the eternity after that." Artie still looked annoyed, but his tone had a definite lightness to it now.

"Awesome!" Puck clapped his hands together.

"Since none of you seem like you're going to apologize to me anytime soon, how about we all stay quiet for a while?" Rachel said, more matter-of-fact than harsh. "My inner chi is completely unbalanced after all this stress."

"Um…sure," said Puck, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Slowly but surely, the police worked out the business with the car wreck, and the roads started to clear.

Puck finally commenced driving, feeling a thrill as he passed the exit ramp. As they drove onward, leaving all the negativity of the past two hours behind, his felt the tension in his shoulders melt away.

Maybe now they could finally have some real fun.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Late Saturday afternoon._

At about 3:45 PM, after searching the obscure town they'd finally exited onto, the group finally found a motel. Much to Rachel's dismay, there weren't any "hotels-with-an-_H_" around, but at least the motel wasn't the cockroach emporium kind.

The sour, angry mood had lifted, and everyone was now being cautiously nice and stiffly polite toward one another. Nobody wanted to get into another full-blown fight like that horrible one in the car, but Artie was still giving Quinn the cold shoulder and Rachel didn't even have the energy to correct Puck's poor grammar like she usually did in that very _helpful_ way of hers.

They checked into a room using Puck's fake I.D. and split the cost, paying for it with their own cash. There were no adjoining rooms that had a handicap ramp in the bathroom, and besides, the cheapest price was for everyone to split one room.

At first, Rachel was adamant about not spending the night in the same room as Puck and Artie (though she emphasized her point mainly on Puck), but she was appeased by the reasoning that they wouldn't stay here long before going somewhere else; besides, they needed to spend as little money as possible during their first day, right?, so please just suck it up, Rachel, and take the least expensive room.

Quinn was disappointed by the lack of bellhop to assist with her luggage, and needless to say, Rachel and her mountain of pink suitcases took a couple of trips to haul up to the room.

Their room was large enough to hold four single-beds; two in each corner, all with the same light blue plaid comforters. The air-conditioner worked but wheezed noisily. The wallpaper was a dull shade of mustard yellow and was peeling at the corners; framed, tacky watercolor paintings of flowers peppered the walls. There was a giant, boxy old television set between the two beds in the back corners.

Two closets, neither walk-in. One handicap-ramp-enabled bathroom with a shower, toilet, wide mirror, and bad florescent lighting.

As far as things went, it certainly could've been worse. The main problem was only having one bathroom. But the room had a cozy feel to it, and it smelled clean and fresh. Plus, the beds were nice: the mattresses weren't too hard, and the pillows had the perfect firmness-to-fluffiness ratio.

Rachel claimed the bed in the far left corner, next to one of the windows. Puck got the one across from hers, next to the other window. That left Quinn in the other left corner with Artie across from her. The room's door was placed equally between Quinn and Artie, and the bathroom was equally between Artie and Puck.

"The_ feng shui here_ is definitely more positive than negative," said Rachel. "That's a good sign."

"I have no clue what that means, but right on!" Puck flashed a quick thumbs-up before diving onto his bed.

"Yes, but, _heh-looo_," Quinn waved her hand and pulled a face. "Only one bathroom? With four of us, two of which are high-maintenance girlie-girls? Can't anyone else see the glaring problem here?"

"It's not that big of a deal," Artie said, but he did give Quinn a small smile so she wouldn't think he was arguing with her. "We'll manage."

She returned his small smile, hoping he wasn't still mad at her. But she knew she was going to have to really apologize for all the things Puck had relayed her saying if she were to get back on the right foot with him again.

It surprised her how much she wanted their easy comradery back.

"So…what do we do now?" Rachel asked. "Go exploring the town? I think I saw a drive-in theater not too far from here."

"I feel like we've had enough adventure for one day," Artie said. "Anyone else game for staying in and ordering a pizza? Maybe we could even…I dunno…like, talk or something." He felt lame immediately after suggesting it.

"Great idea, Artie!" Puck's words dripped with sarcastic over-enthusiasm. "And then we can sit around and paint our toenails a scandalous shade of pink while giggling about what lucky gal is going to be prom queen!"

"There's no use debating that," Quinn said with a twinkle in her eyes. "It's obviously going to be me."

"You know, staying in with some pizza – either _vegetarian_ or plain cheese, of course – sounds like a good plan for tonight," Rachel nodded. "This day has been too emotionally stressful, and that's coming from the biggest diva here! We need to regroup and dust ourselves off before hitting the town together."

"Fine," Puck reluctantly agreed. "You have a point."

"I remember seeing a pizzeria about a block away," Quinn said, suddenly getting an idea. "Puck and Rachel, you guys should walk down there and pick up a pizza for us. You know, uh, give yourselves a chance to really stretch your legs after the long car ride. Artie and I can stay here."

Artie raised his eyebrows at this, but to Quinn's surprise, no one argued with her. Instead, Puck just shrugged and Rachel promptly hopped off the bed and stuck her hands on her hips in a ready-to-go way.

"Okay," Puck said, making sure he'd pocketed his copy of the room key before leading the way out the door. "But you guys have to pay me and Rachel back for your share of the price, got it?"

Artie and Quinn agreed with rolls of their eyes and watched as Puck and Rachel left, the two launching into some great debate over the best flavors of pizza they'd ever had.

Quinn waited a few moments to make sure the two weren't going to pop back in for something they'd forgotten before turning to Artie. She was perched on the end of her bed, and he was parked in his wheelchair next to his bed.

"Okay…now that they're gone…" She drew in a deep breath. "Look, Artie, I'm really sorry, okay? I know I owe you an apology, and I need to explain."

She pressed gentle fingertips to her temples. "Oh, God, I'm not good at this. I've never been good at apologizing; that's why I usually don't."

"Really? I thought it was because you didn't have a conscious," Artie said dryly, forcing a _ha-ha-I'm-joking_ smile that fell short of his eyes.

"Trying here," Quinn said, shooting him with a pleading look.

Artie gave a nod and decided to lend her the benefit of the doubt and listen to her without judgment.

"I'm…it's just…okay, well, what I said about you and Brittany? It's like this…" _Ugh!_ Quinn thought. She was completely drowning here, choking on her own speech. "I…okay, yeah, I thought you were too nerdy for Brittany. I mean, she's one of my friends, and she's kind of easy, but she still has _standards_, you know?"

Artie's face hardened at this and Quinn mentally slapped herself. "No, no, no! That's not what I meant!"

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Artie snapped.

Quinn took a deep breath. "I mean…Brittany obviously liked you, and I always knew you were a really nice guy. But…um…it just confused me why she wouldn't want to be with a football player instead of…you know…"

Artie had had enough; he held up a hand and cut her with a sharp, scathing expression. "Stop. I get it; you don't have to pretty-up your words around me, okay? You don't think Brittany would genuinely want to be with a guy in a wheelchair. You don't think _anyone_ would ever pick an invalid freak over a football player."

He shook his head and started wheeling himself toward one of the windows, needing to be as far away from Quinn as possible. "I thought maybe you weren't the ice princess everyone's pegged you as, but unfortunately, you've proved me wrong."

"What?" Quinn jumped to her feet and hurried over to Artie, halting him with a hand to his shoulder. She crouched in front of him, looking into his eyes. Hers were so intense that Artie felt more than a bit uncomfortable.

"Is that what you think I meant, Artie?" she asked, shocked. "You thought I meant she'd want to be with a football player over someone in a wheelchair? God, you really must think nothing of me. I must be a complete and total bitch in your eyes, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Artie asked, his brow puckering in confusion.

"Artie, I meant, why would someone as shallow as Brittany go out with a dork from the Glee Club when she could have someone way more popular," Quinn explained, and the truth shining in her eyes was so evident that Artie darted his glance around, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

"I know that doesn't make things much better," Quinn admitted. "I was still completely wrong with the things I said, but I was honestly more in disbelief toward her choosing someone at the bottom of the ladder over someone at the top. It has _nothing_ to do with you being in a wheelchair. Because, honestly, I don't even really notice it; it just kinda seems like you're a short guy, to tell you the truth. It doesn't really seem like you're sitting down, or that you even _have_ to."

Artie met her eyes again, feeling touched to the deepest part of him. She had no idea how much warmth hearing someone say those words brought to him. He hated being That Boy in the Wheelchair; he just wanted to be _Artie_: himself. And to have someone see not his condition but him as a human – even as a 'Glee Club loser' who didn't seem fit to be with a popular cheerleader like Brittany – was rare, but when it happened, it was the truest thing in the world.

Still…he knew to be cautiously optimistic about such things. "Puck said you called me a charity case. What else could you mean by that besides me being in a wheelchair?"

"I meant that you're a nerd who sometimes wears sweater vests, has glasses, and loves sci-fi movies," Quinn smirked. "That's about as big of a charity case as they come, you know."

Finally Artie allowed himself to break into a grin. His eyes stayed locked with Quinn's and a moment passed between them. The golden kind that changes things, reshapes them for the better; the kind that can't be faked or duplicated.

He flashed the signature Vulcan salute. "Nerd and proud," he said, and Quinn's grin spread to match his own. "Live long and prosper."

Quinn laughed and matched the sign. "Possible Nerd Initiate and unsure," she said. "Live long and prosper."

"Was that right?" she asked.

Artie laughed and nodded. "Perfect."

* * *

_Late Saturday afternoon to early evening._

As soon as Rachel closed the motel room door behind her, Puck started running toward Artie's mom's car.

"Nuh-uh-uh," Rachel called. "We're walking."

Puck halted, spun around, and rolled his eyes at her. He seemed to do that a lot around her. Roll his eyes. Well, _people in general_ seemed to do that a lot around her, and Rachel was always left wondering why everybody became irritated so easily.

She began striding down the sidewalk, enjoying the stretch it gave her legs' muscles. About two seconds later, Puck was at her side.

"I didn't figure you as a pizza girl," he said.

This sounded so ridiculous that Rachel couldn't control the genuine laughter that bubbled from her lips. "What on earth is that supposed to mean, Noah?"

"Okay, like, the way I figure it, there are three types of chicks in the world. The first one is – "

"Of course; here you go, chauvinistically labeling groups of women as you see fit."

Puck continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. " – the girls who mainly eat salads. That would mean Quinn. Brittany. Santana. _Those_ types of girls: the ones who really care about what they look like at, like, _every_ _friggin' moment_ of _every friggin' day_. And they think it makes them look all cute, but honestly, us guys find it kind of annoying. Who wants to date someone who doesn't enjoy _eating_, perhaps _the_ most valued pastime in the history of the world?

"Okay, so you have your salad-eaters; next are the sandwich girls. They range from the borderline-salad girls – that would be the ones whose sandwich only has, like, lettuce and a tomato and the bread but no meat. But it can also range all the way down to the meatball-sub-with-garlic-and-all-other-types-of-shit-girls, who have no standards and are sloppy and just _no_."

Rachel could bite her tongue no longer. "As fascinating as this peek into the terrifying inner workings of your mind is, Noah, could you please just get to the point already?"

They reached the end of the sidewalk. Puck pushed the 'Walk' button on the crosswalk and waited for it to be safe to do so.

"Yeah, yeah…okay…um, where was I?"

Rachel found herself having to fight back an amused smile. "The downfalls of the meatball-sub-girls. Though it'd be appreciated if you could jump to my category already."

"Right, right. Well, anyway, the sandwich girls are, like, not as prissy as the salad ones, but either they're sorta prissy, or they're grossly untamed. 'Cause, as much as us he-men guys like to talk about it, no one actually wants to be with a girl who's like _literally_ one of the guys."

The 'Walk' sign flashed; they quickly crossed the intersection. Puck waited until they'd made it onto the sidewalk on the other side before resuming his spiel.

"So, now to you. The pizza girls. They're the kind who you can just chill with. Crack open a bottle of beer, – okay, well, more like _root_ beer in your case – watch some TV together, and just be yourself."

"I think that somehow, if I got out a magnifying glass and took the time to really look at those last few sentences, I might find an actual compliment about me in there," Rachel said thoughtfully. "So, thank you. I think? But anyway, your theory is admittedly impressively worked out for someone like you, but you have one giant problem with it."

"Which is…?" Puck asked, sounding a bit defensive.

"I don't care _what_ you say," said Rachel, raising her eyebrows at him, "but _everybody_ likes pizza. It's the least offensive food. The Bill Cosby of meals."

Puck cracked up at that, and Rachel found herself giggling with him. "Wow, Berry, that was actually funny! Like, Facebook-status-worthy funny."

Rachel smiled brightly, a warm feeling tickling her stomach. She'd received many, _many_ compliments in her lifetime, but never once had anyone ever called her 'funny.' She did have a sense of humor, but she was usually too busy worrying about becoming a star to use it. It was nice to have someone connect with something she'd said, to really laugh _with_ her rather than _at_ her.

Puck's laughter trailed off as his eyes took in her smile, lingered on her full lips.

"What?" Rachel asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Nothing," said Puck, shaking his head. He cast his gaze forward and stuck his hands in his pockets before speaking again. "It's just…you have a really kickass smile."

Rachel was surprised by the sincerity in his tone, but even more so surprised by the fact that his words made her stomach do a flip. But she quickly wrote that off as a hunger pain, because, honestly, what _else_ could it be?

Puck felt unnerved by Rachel's silence; he felt as if he'd shown her something secret – like a gnarly-cool birthmark or whatever – and rather than the reaction he'd expected, she'd reacted totally differently. Like, disgusted rather than impressed. He'd just been speaking his mind, like he always did, but it felt different than usual. Different as in, he kind of wished he hadn't said that out loud.

Hastily, he backpedaled. "Um, you know, I'm just kinda shocked because I'm so used to you always scowling at everyone like you're an old grandma what hates it when kids have fun. So to see you smiling is a nice change."

"Hey, I smile! I smile all the time! Just ask Finn; he always told me I had a really happy smile that he liked."

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Rachel mentioning Finn made Puck's shoulders hunch up. "Yeah, but I can't really ask him, 'cause you guys broke up, _re-mem-ber?_"

Rachel gave Puck's profile a dirty look and spoke in a very bad attempt at a dumb-hick accent. "Naw, Noah, I jus' plum forgot all about that! You a-mean to tell me tha' my a-boyfran _dumped_ me, like a pile o' manure" which, in her terrible accent, she pronounced 'man-_oooooh_-er' "on a hot summer's day?"

They were two stores away from the pizzeria, but Puck stopped in his tracks and fixed Rachel with a look that screamed 'WTF!'. "Why the hell are you talking like that?"

"I was imitating your stupidity," Rachel said in a defensive tone. She could feel her cheeks coloring beneath his stare of disbelief.

Rather abruptly, Puck started laughing so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. "Yeah, because you speaking in a _horrible_ redneck accent makes _me_ look stupid."

Rachel bit down on her lower lip to keep from joining in; Puck had this rich kind of laughter that was contagious. Plus, she supposed she _had_ sounded pretty ludicrous.

She had to release a few giggles before she could regain her composure. "Can we just go buy the pizza already?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Puck with a nod of his head. "Just so long as you don't scare away the cashier with more of that Farm Girl From Hell, okay? Seriously, Rachel! That could be used as the top-most level of torture on prisoners of war."

Rachel smirked in amusement as she and Puck ambled toward the pizzeria. She couldn't remember the last time she'd joked around this much with anybody.

And for once, rather than feeling childish for doing so, she actually felt this strange lightness spreading through her.

It took her a moment to realize it was happiness.


	10. Chapter 10

I am so sorry to those who have been waiting for an update. All I can say is that I lost inspiration for a while, got distracted by some other stories, but I have finally found my way back to this one. :) I will try to update more often, but we all know how I can be with that. :-/ Anyway, thank you guys so much, genuinely and from the bottom of my heart. You are all so awesome! xD Please leave me a review to let me know what you think; which pairing is your favorite so far, whether romantic or friendship? What would you like to see happen? (Suggestions will definitely be taken into consideration, and may even help me be more inspired and thus able to update faster!)

This chapter is pretty long, and I hope it was well worth the wait. So, I'll stop babbling now and let you get on with the story. *You all shout unanimously like that one episode of _Spongebob_:"That's what we've been waiting for!"* ;D Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Ten

_Early Saturday evening._

"Knock, knock," Puck called out as he opened the door of their motel room. He didn't actually knock at all, but rather just spoke the action.

"We've brought provisions!" Rachel sang. "And they smell _dee_-licious." As she was carrying the two giant pizza boxes in her arms, she had to use the heel of her hiking boot to close the door behind her.

"Thank _God_," said Quinn dramatically. "I'm so starved."

"Everyone come gather near the sultan's throne," said Puck, flopping onto the end of his bed – the old springs groaned in protest at the weight of his well-muscled body – and beckoning the three toward him as if they were his royal guests.

"'The sultan'?" Artie echoed, his eyebrows shooting skyward.

"It's better than Mack Daddy Big House, though, right?" said Puck earnestly.

"Yes, Noah, we'll give you that," Rachel said diplomatically. She sat down cross-legged next to him, close enough that her bare thigh touched his jeans; Puck found himself wishing he were wearing shorts instead. Even the dorky denim cut-offs buried in the back of his drawer back home.

Rachel balanced the two pizza boxes on her right knee and Puck's left. She opened the top and immediately the amazing smell of cheesy, saucy, baked-bread goodness drifted through the room.

Artie rolled over to the end of Puck's bed; Quinn sat down next to Artie, the top of her head for once level with his.

"_Yum_," said Artie, closing his eyes and taking a great whiff of the wonderful aroma.

"I'm going to start drooling if you don't give me a piece right this second."

"Okay, Quinn, hang on; there's enough of Puckzilla to go around. Maybe even enough for seconds." He waggled his eyebrows in a manner that was both ridiculously cocky and just plain ridiculous.

Everyone groaned at Puck's behavior, but laughter punctuated the sounds of disgusted protest.

Rachel handed the bottom pizza box to Quinn so she could share with Artie. Quinn opened the top, inspected the goods. Cheese pizza. She would've preferred pepperoni, but this looked too delectable to whine.

She handed Artie a large slice before selecting one for herself. She wished she had a napkin to blot off some of that grease, not wanting it to smear all over her mouth. But maybe the sheen it left behind could pass as a particularly shiny lip gloss?

She took one bite and her eyes rolled backward in ecstasy. _Screw appearances_, she thought. _This is too damn good for worrying about grease._

Puck and Rachel reached for the same piece in their box – the biggest one – and their fingers brushed. Lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A nervous giggle from Rachel as she yanked her hand away as if Puck's were an open flame.

"You can have it," said Puck in his best I-can-be-a-gentleman voice.

"You go ahead," said Rachel.

"No, for real, I insist."

"Um, okay," she said, hesitantly picking up the piece. Strings of hot cheese dripped from the end.

Puck watched Rachel's mouth as she took a hearty bite off the end. The way her perfectly-cared-for, straight teeth clomped down; the way a teardrop-sized splash of sauce stuck at the side of her lips.

"Uh," he said. "You've got…" He motioned toward the area between his mouth and chin.

Rachel lifted her eyebrows and continued chewing. She swallowed before speaking. "What?"

"Uhm," he said, moistening his lips. "You've got some sauce on your…" He pointed toward the drop of red on her face. "…Yeah."

Rachel took a napkin and wiped at every place _but_ the damn bit of sauce. "Here; hold still," said Puck, leaning in and using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe it away.

Their eyes locked. Their stomachs suddenly dipped with a nervous feeling. _Are we having…a _moment_?_ Rachel thought.

But of course, right when the thought jumped unwelcome into her mind, Puck proved her wrong by dramatically licking the sauce off his thumb and winking at her.

She looked away, feeling foolish. She suddenly missed Finn so much that it was a physical ache all through her bones. Finn would never make her feel so stupid. He wasn't one for flirty mind games. Well, he wasn't one for flirting _at all_, really. At least not with her.

Puck grabbed a slice of pizza for himself; now they were all chowing down. It was silent for a while as they dug into the food.

"So, what do you guys think the rest of the Glee Club is up to right now?" asked Artie curiously.

"Something boring," said Puck simply. "_Haha_, I just imagined like, _every single person_ of the other members of the Glee Club sneezing at the same time! Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

Rachel, Quinn, and Artie gave the sniggering Puck a collective look of 'um…you're weird.'

"Whatever," Puck shrugged. "It was funnier in my head."

"I imagine that's true of every joke you make," Quinn quipped.

"Oh, and like you're Miss Hilarious? I don't recall you having a PhD in Joke Making."

"I wonder if a clown college would have that as an option," Artie said thoughtfully, not mocking.

"You're quiet," Puck said to Rachel, almost accusingly.

"I'm eating," she said snootily, "and thinking. Not that you'd know much about the latter."

"Ooh, _burn!_" Artie chuckled.

"Hardly," Puck scoffed.

"No, she got you pretty good," said Quinn.

"What, so you guys are ganging up on me now?"

"Pretty much," shrugged Artie.

"It really shouldn't surprise you, Noah."

Quinn just gave Puck a 'what-did-you-expect?' half-smirk.

"Fine," said Puck. "I'll be you guys' punching bag. But how about I start saying how annoying _you guys_ are? Huh? Could you guys handle the epic put-downs of the Mighty Puckmeister?"

"Bring it," Quinn challenged.

Rachel quickly swallowed her last bite of pizza before holding out her hands and calling, "Wait!" When their attention was on her, she continued.

"Don't you think this all sounds a little mean-spirited?"

"Um…_duh_," said Puck. "It's gonna be a _lot_ mean-spirited. That's the point of a Roast, Rachel."

"I'm vegan."

"No, not like a meal," Quinn said, surprisingly not sounding annoyed by Rachel's lack of knowledge. "It's when you insult people with jokes made at their expense."

"You've seriously never heard of a Roast?" asked Artie.

"No." Rachel said the word stiffly, her eyes narrowing. She hated feeling left out, which happened much too often for some reason. "But it sounds like something I wouldn't like. Poking fun at people for laughs? How low has society stooped?"

Puck and Artie started to argue with her, but Quinn spoke up. "No, you guys, Rachel's right." Even she looked surprised by her word choice. "Um…yeah, Rachel's right." She chuckled to herself and muttered under her breath, "Never thought I'd ever say _that_."

"But that's not fair," said Puck. "You guys got to rip into me, so I should get to rip into you."

"How about a compromise?" Artie bit into another piece of pizza. "We each say something we don't like about each other…_but_, we also say something we _do_ like about each other."

Rachel twirled a lock of hair around her finger and nodded slowly. "Hmmm…I think that could be…interesting. We would be able to find out negative aspects of our personality that we need to work on, but the blow will be cushioned by a compliment following the insult."

Puck chuckled. "You said 'blow.'"

That got him a nice extra-agitated eye-roll from Rachel.

"So, who's going to be the first victim?" asked Quinn.

"I'll go," said Artie. "Or, I guess I mean, _you_ guys go. Do me first." He quickly shot a look at Puck. "Don't take that out of context."

"All right, so who's going to insultiment him first?" Puck inquired.

"'Insultiment,'" Quinn repeated, "as in 'insult' combined with 'compliment'?"

Puck nodded.

Quinn gave an approving nod back. "Nice."

"I will," Rachel said eagerly, sitting up straighter and folding her hands in her lap. She loved doling out her opinions; she figured everyone could do with some privileged Rachel Berry Constructive Criticism.

"Oh, great," Artie groaned jokingly. Quinn winked at him and patted his arm.

Rachel cleared her throat importantly. "I am a firm believer in 'the bad news first.' That way, you are left hearing the positive, so you aren't dwelling on the negative. So, Artie, here is what I think you need to work on: when we are in group performances, your facial expressions tend to not be as expressive as the oth– "

"No, Rachel," Puck interrupted. "You're supposed to tell him one thing you don't like about him, and one thing you do."

"That's what I was doing!"

"You were about to tell him what he needs to do to be a better performer in the Glee Club," Puck said with exasperation. "That's something Mr. Schue would do. You're supposed to be, like, mini-Roasting him first."

"But I don't want to just tell him something pointlessly mean, _just_ for the sake of being mean," Rachel frowned. "That doesn't sound very nice."

Quinn smirked. "That's kind of the point."

"I'm not going to get offended," Artie said, giving Rachel a kind smile. She may be super annoying at times, but until now, he hadn't realized how much she really cared for others.

"None of us are allowed to get mad at each other," said Puck. "We can get offended, because watching people freak out is fun, but no more fighting like earlier in the car, got it?"

Quinn and Artie nodded their ascent, but Rachel still looked uncertain.

"All right," she said, biting down on her lower lip. "Well, Artie, um…something I don't like about you…." Her mind went blank. Artie was a good guy – nice, funny, and generous. There wasn't really anything to _not_ like about him, unless you were a heartless jerk.

Well...there was _one_ thing...

"I don't like how you talk badly about me behind my back," Rachel said.

"What? I do not!"

"Yes, you do," she insisted, gaining a sense of indignity in her tone and posture. "I once overheard you telling Tina that I am an insufferable know-it-all, and you're always rolling your eyes at me like I'm _the_ most annoying person on this planet, _and_ when I gave everybody in the Glee Club candy canes for Valentine's Day out of the kindness of my heart, you muttered the word '_lame'_ under your breath!" With each listing of the mean things Artie had done to her, her words burned more and more fiery.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rachel!" Artie held up his hands and raised his eyebrows. "Settle down!"

"See? Now you're being condescending!" She threw her arms up in the air with exasperation, nearly knocking over the balanced pizza box half on her lap. She drew in a sharp breath and exhaled it slowly. "I just wish you weren't so judgmental, I guess. You don't really know me like you know the others, but you tend to pass more judgment on me than on any one else."

Artie sputtered, trying to grasp at some sort of epic comeback, but he realized that he really shouldn't be the one who was offended here. Rachel was right; he _was_ rude to her. Way ruder to her than any of their other friends. In fact, he had never even considered Rachel as a friend before, and he could now see that was because he hadn't given her a fair chance.

"You're right," said Artie, shamefaced. "I'm sorry. You do annoy me a lot, but I don't pay attention to the nice stuff you do. I only focus on the irritating parts. But to my defense, there are a lot of those!"

"Gee. _Thanks_." Rachel bit into her pizza slice violently.

"Sorry, sorry; there I go again. Just forgive me, okay? … Please?"

Rachel made him sweat it out for a few seconds before gracing him with a small but genuine smile and saying softly, "Okay."

"_Booooo!_" Puck gave a thumbs-down.

Quinn shot Puck a dirty look; why ruin such a sweet moment?

"Hey!" Rachel protested, whacking Puck in the arm with her pizza crust.

"You guys _suck_ at Roasts! Seriously! Way too much lovey-dovey goo-goo _crap_, and not enough punch-to-the-gut-truthful _insults!_"

Artie scoffed. "Come on, Puck! If we flat-out insulted each other, we'd go back to fighting again. And pizza is far too sacred of a food to put through shouting matches."

"Fine, whatever; go all Dr. Phil. See if I care. But I'll have you suckers know, when it's _my_ turn, Puckzilla ain't gonna go easy on ya."

"We'll keep that in mind right after we decide to actually care," said Quinn with a roll of her pretty, green eyes.

"Okay, so you insulted me," Artie said to Rachel. "Now compliment me."

"That's an easy one," Rachel smiled. "You're the best hip-hop singer of the group!"

"No, no, no, no, _no!_" Puck turned his head with each word. "Rachel! Your insultiments _cannot_ have to do with school in any way, shape, or form. That includes the Glee Club. It's too boring that way."

Rachel huffed and finished off her crust before reaching for another. "Fine. Okay, Artie, I like your dry sense of humor. It may not make _me_ laugh in particular, but I can understand its appeal, and from what I gather, you are quite good at sarcasm and deadpanning."

Artie smiled, a foreign warmth for Rachel unfurling in his chest. It was…friendly affection. Huh.

"Thanks, Rachel."

"You're most welcome." She smiled to herself, proud of her work, and took a hearty bite of her new piece of pizza.

"Okay, now I'm going to go, so I can show you kiddies how to _really_ school someone," said Puck. He tossed the entire crust of his slice into his mouth and wiped his hands together eagerly.

Rachel turned away in revulsion as Puck chomped down on the crust, mouth veering open a few times, but finally he had swallowed it all and could talk. Wait…finally he could talk again… On second thought, Rachel preferred his eating with his mouth full better.

"Artie, your wardrobe looks like it was picked out by a blind librarian's assistant in the old man's department of a shop for teachers' clothes," Puck said. He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. "Seriously, dude, what is up with those dorktastic suspenders? What are you, Mr. Rogers' socially inept grandson?"

Artie chuckled good-naturedly, but his cheeks were noticeably a bit pinker than before. "Nice; you got me good. _Haha._"

Quinn turned to Artie and offered him a sweet, close-lipped smile. He noticed how it changed everything about her when she smiled like that, so warm and genuinely kind and caring: her eyes became greener, brighter, crinkling adorably at the edges; her precious baby-angel lips became smaller and daintier.

Artie's heart skipped a beat.

"I think your style works for you," she said. "It's quirky. Cute. Kind of cool, actually."

A smile spread across Artie's entire face at this. "Thanks, Quinn," he said, surprising himself with how shy his tone was. Strangely enough, he blushed harder at Quinn's compliment than he had with Puck's insult.

"_Ugh,"_ Puck groused. "A Roast is no time for interjections of sunshine-and-rainbows from other people after someone's insult."

"You got him good, Puck," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. She still didn't approve of this game. It still felt too mean-spirited and rather pointless; she just hoped the compliments from everyone would help them all bond, at least. "Now share your compliment so we can move on to the next person."

"All right, fine, fine," Puck huffed. "I guess it's pretty cool how you're in a wheelchair but you, like, handle yourself with, you know, like, dignity." He ran his hand through his jet-black Mohawk, his tone edged with discomfort. It felt seriously lame to be buttering up another dude like this, in such a…'bromantic' way.

"Like, I don't know, if I were in a wheelchair, I would probably bitch about it more than you do," he finished, apparently very interested with watching as he twirled a loose thread from the hemline of his clean white T-shirt around and around his forefinger. "It's cool how I kind of sometimes forget you're even in a wheelchair, ifthatmakessenseIdon'tknowyeahwhateverman."

Puck looked up from winding the thread around his finger to find three faces inspecting him with varying expressions: there were Artie and Quinn right across from him, the boy's face a cross between amusement and gratitude, while the girl wore this soft smile and gentle pride in her eyes directed toward Puck. And then there was Rachel, those long-eyelash-framed amber eyes of her eyes bearing into the side of his profile, and when he turned and caught her gaze, those damn eyes might as well have been bearing into his soul now, too.

Rachel's eyebrows were drawing together, marking a tiny crease between them; her mouth was a small, thoughtful pucker; her head was cocked to the side, like a curious animal cautiously approaching a foreign object…it was all of this, but mainly, it was the unabashed inquiry gleaming in her eyes. Like she were cupping Puck in her hand, holding him up to the light and turning him around to take note of how the light caught his every angle and every shadow.

He didn't like being looked at like he was some difficult math equation Rachel was trying to solve; he wasn't anybody's damn mystery, and he hated the way her expression veered onto borderline disbelief, as if she were genuinely surprised that he even _had_ feelings, let alone was able to dole out a sincere compliment to Artie, one of his sort-of-friends.

"Thanks," Artie said, breaking the starting-to-become-awkward silence. "That's nice of you, Puck."

Puck bristled at this, resentment sizzling through his veins like hot oil.

But his snapping point arrived when Rachel had to lean forward to reach one of the last slices of pizza toward the back of the box, and her thigh pressed right up against Puck's, her hipbone pushing against his. Her shoulder brushing his for just a second; then, her elbow passing over his forearm, making the black leather of his jacket make a soft crinkling noise.

"Yeah, well, I'm a fucking nice guy!" he snapped. "I'm more of a saint than frigging _Gandhi_, so stop acting all surprised, as if I'm, like, the king of all dickwads and have just surprised you by doing something…none dickwaddy, or whatever. … And, _God, _Rachel, could you take any longer to get a fucking piece of pizza?" For her thigh and hip were still against his, as she had frozen midway through selecting a slice when he had started shouting.

She sprang back into action, grabbing one of the last at random, and when she pulled back from the box, she discreetly pulled away from Puck too, scooting a few inches away from him. But he noticed.

Boy, did he notice.

And it only pissed him off more. … And…strangely enough…it made this stupid, awful, unfamiliar sensation of what could only be shame, maybe even embarrassment, prickling all along the hairs of his body. And her shaming him only made him even _more_ pissed off at her, at the world. God, what an endless, tiring cycle!

"All…_riiiiighhhttt_," Quinn finally said, breaking through the hard ice that had begun to form through the atmosphere following Puck's outburst. "We will never doubt your nice guy capabilities ever again, Puck." She nabbed another piece of cheese pizza (she was only on her second one, being a slow eater), handed Artie his third slice of cheese he'd been reaching for, and then cleared her throat.

"My turn to insultiment Artie," she said in as breezy a tone as possible. She wanted the tension in the air to melt back into the relaxed comradery that had developed between the group before Puck had blown a gasket for whatever reason.

"My insult to you, Artie, is that…" She suddenly trailed off, realizing that she really couldn't think of anything about him she didn't like.

"Okay…um…I guess my insult to you is that…" She nibbled from her pizza, eyes trained on the ceiling as she racked her brain for something she disliked about Artie. But really, there was nothing; he was a genuinely great guy – she had learned this much just by "bonding with him" for half a day.

"I guess you could style your hair better," she finally decided on, shrugging at him. Apologetically, not because it was an insult, but because it wasn't a good _enough_ insult. She'd failed the game, hadn't made this interesting enough for him.

"I mean, I like your haircut and all, but it's kind of flat." Quinn reached the hand of hers that was unmarred by pizza grease over to Artie's brunette head, and she ran her fingers through his thick, soft hair, fingertips lingering for just a moment when she reached the base of his skull.

Their eyes connected; involuntarily, Quinn's grip tightened just a fraction against his head, bunching the hair like tufts of feathers between her slender fingers.

Her heart throbbed; this slow, aching beat.

Quickly, Artie glanced away, feeling awkward. He was wondering why Quinn was looking at him like that, himself not experiencing the completely unexpected, strange sensation – almost like an electric shock – that had coursed through Quinn's every vein at what she found to be such intimate physical contact with him.

When his eyes broke from hers, she abruptly pulled her hand away, dropped it back into her lap, and flicked a panicked stare over to Rachel and Puck. Had they witnessed her crazy behavior, how she'd been…like…_gazing_ at Artie, and how he had turned away, sort of _rejecting_ her?

Thankfully, no, they had not; they were both in their own world following Puck's outburst.

Rachel was very intently watching as the pizza slice in her hand diminished bite-by-bite; Puck was still worrying away over that loose thread of his, finally yanking it free from his hemline and now weaving it in and out between his fingers as if he were playing with a yo-yo.

"Um, and your compliment is that you're a very nice guy," Quinn said in one great breath, forcing eye-contact and a flash of a fake smile Artie's way before returning to the solace of her pizza crust.

Artie smiled his own fake smile back at her, even though she was no longer looking at him. 'A very nice guy?' _Seriously?_ Ugh, that was the freaking kiss of death! His ultimate kryptonite, the reason Brittany had dumped him: He was too damn _nice_.

"You know, this game is stupid," he finally said after another uncomfortable, sulking silence from the foursome. "It's making all of us moody, and I don't want to cause any more tension. We're on thin enough ice as it is. Can we talk about or do something else?"

Everyone looked up at him, something almost like guilt in their eyes.

"You're right," Rachel agreed, nodding vigorously. "As much as I love drama, I just feel like we're going about this road trip all wrong. We keep fighting, getting into these awkward arguments. We're all mature enough to handle our emotions, so let's stop taking things out on other people." She had to be careful to swing her stare toward _everyone_ in the group, and not just Puck; she also had to be careful not to make her tone scolding when her stare _did_ land on Puck.

"We're basically finished with the pizza," Quinn said, motioning to the nearly-empty boxes. "How about some dessert?"

"I brought Oreos," said Puck, plucking his backpack up from its spot on the floor next to his bed. He lifted it into his lap, unzipped it, and began rummaging around. He pulled out the familiar shiny dark blue container of delicious chocolate-with-cream snack cookies.

He turned to Rachel, his expression just the tiniest bit shy, a bit remorseful, and his words uttered in the canto of an apology. "They're vegan. I, like, researched vegan snacks online when packing some stuff we could all eat on the road, and Oreos came up."

Rachel's mouth parted; she was touched by this kind gesture. Touched deeply so. She moistened her lips, squinted her eyes as she stared into his. Searching for something, but she didn't know what exactly just yet.

"Thank you, Noah." She graced him with a soft but sincere smile, and all was forgiven from his earlier outburst. "I did in fact know that Oreos were vegan; I enjoy snacking on them at home sometimes."

"Good," he said, returning her close-lipped smile, small but gentle.

"Pass some over here," Artie said. "I want me some choc-o-lat."

Puck opened the container and grabbed a few for himself before sending the box around in a circle: first to Rachel, who passed them to Artie, who passed them to Quinn.

Quinn took off the top of one of her cookies and began licking away at the cream.

"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat their Oreos," Artie said, mock-wisely. He bit through his like a cookie sandwich, not taking it apart like Quinn had with hers.

Rachel transferred all of the cream of one cookie to the bottom chocolate disc, ate the top dry, then ate the bottom cream-covered part. Puck popped a whole one in his mouth.

"So what does mine say about me?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know," Artie admitted with a shrug. "Maybe that you're efficient? A thoughtful eater, I guess."

Rachel smirked. "I would like to see you write a college-paper-worthy theory on the hidden symbolic meanings of how people eat their Oreos."

"Like those twin chicks in _The Parent Trap,_" said Puck. "They ate theirs with peanut butter."

"Oh my God!" Quinn laughed. "I used to _love_ that movie. The one with Lindsay Lohan? I had, like, all the words memorized!" She smiled at herself before launching into a decent attempt at a British accent, "_At home I eat them with…I eat them with peanut but-tah._"

"Yeah," Puck said with a hearty chuckle, grinning and nodding at Quinn unashamedly. "That movie was the shit!"

"I preferred the original," said Rachel, "with Hayley Mills. She was so talented, and she really pulled off that short hairstyle."

"I've never seen either," said Artie, helping himself to another Oreo. But Puck slapped his hand away as he, Quinn, and Rachel all chorused in unison: "You've never seen _The Parent Trap_?" Everyone had a good laugh at the unintentional synchronization.

"What is wrong with you, man?" Puck demanded. "It's, like, a _classic_."

"You've got to watch it, Artie," Quinn insisted. Then, jokingly, "It will change your life!"

"But make sure you watch the original version," Rachel put in, using her 'my opinion is the most important' voice. "Remakes are seldom ever better than the first. Like with Wicked on Broadway; there is no way _anyone_ will ever be able to do as phenomenal a job playing Elphie and Glinda than Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth, respectively."

"However," she added, smoothing her hands importantly over her khaki shorts and straightening her already perfect posture. "As there are always exceptions to the rule, I believe it is my destiny to prove to be just as great, if not better, at playing Elphaba when I finally grace the stages of Broadway."

"You know what I like about you, Rachel?" asked Quinn.

"What?" Rachel inquired with an eager, expecting beam.

"Your modesty," Quinn deadpanned.

Artie and Puck sniggered at this, but Rachel's grin twisted into a scowl. "Don't be jealous just because you're not even _one-tenth_ as talented as I am!" she hissed.

Quinn's eyebrows skyrocketed. "You know, Rachel, I also love how you're able to not take yourself so seriously, and can laugh at yourself," she added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Now, Rachel's scowl transformed into a thoughtful frown. After a moment, she said, "You're right, Quinn. I shouldn't take things so seriously all the time, even in regards to my talent. So, I'm sorry for saying you are not one-tenth as talented as me. You're at least two-tenths, _maybe_ even three." She smiled in a way that clearly showed she thought she had just graced Quinn with the greatest compliment ever.

"Gee, thanks," Quinn scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I might not be as talented, but at least I'm saner."

"All geniuses are a little bit crazy, but it only adds rather than detracts from their talent," Rachel shot back. "But again, I am the exception to rules, so I am one of the few _sane_ geniuses, thank you very much."

"You're hardly welcome."

"Ladies, ladies, please!" Artie said, holding up a hand. He shook his head. "Didn't we _just_ get through with yet _another_ truce?"

"Chicks always know how to ruin a perfectly good time," Puck said, "and how to fight over the dumbest shit."

"Oh, please, Noah," Rachel huffed. "Boys are _way_ more immature than girls. It's a scientifically proven fact that the Y-chromosome messes everything up."

"Now _that_ I can agree with," Quinn nodded, pointing an Oreo at Rachel in approval.

"Glad to see you guys are getting along again, even if it's at my gender's expense," Artie sighed.

It seemed like it was going to be a _long _night. At least they all had chocolate to keep them sane.

But considering the likes of _this_ particular group...

Artie figured they were going to need a whole lot of Oreos.


End file.
